The Lorelai Paradox
by mellowenglishgal
Summary: Lydia Gilmore returns to Yale with Rory for their sophomore year, falling into the laps of the Life and Death Brigade's most eligible members: While balancing work and play, Lydia must contend with pranks, politics, Male Yale parties, hospitals, dropouts, coffee overdoses and insane Australians!
1. Chapter 1

**A.N.**: A Rory-has-a-twin-sister fanfic, because Finn _seriously_ didn't get the love he deserved! Rory's supposed to be the twin's foil, rather than the other way around; Lydia is in my mind very much her mother's daughter, whereas Rory takes after Richard. For those interested, I put a board on Pinterest dedicated to this story; type 'mellowUKgal' into the people-search, click on my 'Gilmore Girls' board and enjoy.

* * *

**The Lorelai Paradox**

_01_

* * *

Richard Gilmore was right; the Bradford campus had one of the prettiest courtyards in all of the Yale campuses. The beginning of the fall semester, it was a riot of activity, and no one was a more riotous whirl of energy than the leggy brunette laden down with boutique shopping-bags, a folding vintage green bistro chair, a plastic-bag filled with rolled-up posters, a purple _Icee_ and a big tray of chilli-cheese nachos; dressed in a pair of little black leather shorts, a plain white t-shirt and sultry crimson suede heels, she walked fast, chatting quickly on the cell-phone she had clamped between her ear and shoulder, laughing richly, but arguing adamantly—"No! That's not what we agreed! Check your contract! Well if yours doesn't say that, you've edited a copy at the Dragonfly, because that's not what mine says. It does so. Michel and Sookie both witnessed it. Well I don't have it on my right _now_, I'm in the courtyard." The phone, which had been beeping incessantly since she climbed out of her sister's silver four-door, gave another few warning blips.

"Hang on, my phone's dying—this conversation is _not_ over—let me just—" Stumbling over to a bench around which three familiar young men were clustered—one of their number reclined over most of the bench, huge sunglasses in place, while the other two sipped coffees and laughed, a girl hanging off the blonde's arm—she dumped the armfuls of bags and the chair, dropped the Icee on the bench, thrust the tray of nachos at the brown-eyed brunette, ordering him to "Hold!" and, freeing her other hand, she eyed the apparently-slumbering third party, then dived for his jeans pocket, drawing out a very sleek black touch-screen cell-phone.

"Uh…" the blonde laughed uncertainly; the brunette whose pocket she had just picked didn't even flinch, but she tapped in the pass-code and smiled when it worked. He hadn't changed it since the last time they had met; tapping in a number, she sucked up some _Icee_, popped a loaded nacho into her mouth, swallowed, and, when the call connected, continued the conversation—"Hey, I found a phone."

"_Ew, you're using a public pay-phone_."

"A pay-phone? God, no, who knows what kind of rare strain of lip-herpes I could contract," Lydia shuddered. Lorelai snorted. "I took some guy's."

"_I hope you bought him coffee first_," Lorelai laughed.

"Well, he's either dead or incredibly hungover," Lydia said, eyeing Finn as he continued to doze on the bench; his friends were both gaping at her as she continued to eat nachos from the tray Colin McCrae still held onto; the blonde, Logan, whom she had met on occasion since she was four, was silently giggling. "Probably the latter. Hey, so, you remember 'The Three Stooges Hit Santorini'?"

"_No WAY_," Lorelai gasped, laughing. "_It's them_?"

"Small world, huh," Lydia giggled softly, sipping her _Icee_.

"_Inescapably_," Lorelai laughed. "_Do they still look as cute, or was it the whole Europe, Ouzo thing_?"

"Mm, still cute," Lydia said consideringly.

"_So who's name should I save this number under_?" Lorelai asked.

"The Artful Dodger," Lydia chuckled.

"_Finn the Australian it is, then_," Lorelai said happily.

"So, can you put 'I'm All Ears', 'Shine of the Times' and my _MAC_ 'Red' lipstick into the care-package?" Lydia asked. "Oh, and 'The It Colour' and…what was the other one, 'Dulce de Leche'? Please. Please, please, please."

"_Alright, fine_," Lorelai sighed. "_I stopped putting big chunks of heart-shaped glitter on my fingernails when I was twelve, just so you know, I wasn't using the polish or anything_."

"I gave you a funky pedicure last night," Lydia corrected, grinning. "Oh, and a peanut-butter cup pie?"

"_Don't worry; Sookie's baking up a frenzy for you now that you're back—and I'm going to _pretend_ that the six-pack of recycled _Gatorade_ bottles Miss Patty gave me are filled with regular fruit-punch_."

"Keep thinking that, if it makes you happy," Lydia grinned. "Hey, I don't have much drinking-money, one shot of Miss Patty's Founders' Punch, I'm good for a week."

"_Alright, but remember Mommy's _Coyote Ugly_ tribute_," Lorelai laughed.

"I remember. So does the rest of Stars Hollow," Lydia grinned.

"_Okay, what about the second act of _Grease?" Lorelai bounced back, and Lydia grinned.

"A classic, and the best performance Stars Hollow has seen in twenty years," she smirked. Lydia had been cast as Rizzo in the town production of _Grease_, three times in a row; the last time, she and Kennicky had gotten drunk on Miss Patty's tar-removing punch before the second act. "Taylor said so himself."

"_He didn't realise you were tanked_."

"My jolliness added to the ambiance of the play," Lydia smirked.

"_Hey, I don't hear any shrieking or hair-pulling. Shouldn't you be fighting Paris tooth-and-nail for the better room_?"

"I haven't seen any animals running or flying in circles, so she can't be on campus yet," Lydia said, munching on a nacho. "Man, I've got me some stellar roommates this year; Catherine Zeta-Jones _and_ Mrs Robinson!"

"_Don't call Rory 'Mrs Robinson'_."

"It's nicer than 'Angelina'."

"_Dean doesn't have anything on Brad_."

"True," Lydia said, glancing at Logan, who was staring at her, highly bemused. "I tell you what, though, Loogie really grew up good."

"_Oh yeah_?"

"Miss Patty would snap him up in a heartbeat. Hey, has she recovered from the hysteria during her cardio pole-dancing class?" Sipping her _Icee_, she smiled, taking another nacho from Colin, who was just blinking at her, stunned. Attending one of Miss Patty's cardio pole-dancing classes had sent her into hysterical giggles all afternoon; her stomach had hurt so much for the next day and a half, she was convinced she had pulled her abdominal muscles.

"_Almost_," Lorelai laughed. "_She's gonna miss you there, kid; you're the hit of the class_."

"I was the only one there under fifty!"

"_You were the hit of the class_!" Lorelai repeated pointedly, and Lydia laughed.

"I tell you what, the pole-dancing didn't burn any calories, but watching twelve sixty-year-olds trying to do it made me laugh so hard, my exercise quota for the decade has been used up," Lydia said.

"_That and the physical and emotional effort it takes not to strangle Emily Gilmore_," Lorelai added.

"Two months' unfettered quality-time with Grandma; priceless," Lydia said, stifling a shudder. "It was Vietnam without all that fun _shooting_; I deserve a Purple Heart. Oh, speaking of prices; did I happen to leave some rolls of quarters on my desk? I was gonna do laundry when I got here, but I can't find my change; my Days Of the Week underwear ran out last Tuesday."

"_So under your clothes today, you're wearing_…?

"Not underwear," Lydia smirked.

"_Classy_."

"Wonder where I learned it from. Anyway, I'm back on college-campus; saves time," Lydia said, licking chilli off her finger.

"_And on that note, I will be putting an extra pack of condoms in your care-package_," Lorelai remarked coolly.

"Save them, put 'em in Mrs Robinson's box. Hey, I think I might've left my boots in my closet," Lydia said, frowning, catching sight of the colourful _Paper Source_ seventeen-month calendar she had picked up, on which she intended to map out her social-life and academic obligations for the next few months.

"_Which boots_?"

"Silk-lined cowboys," Lydia frowned.

"_You need them_?"

"I have a social coming up next week. Western-themed," Lydia said, smiling.

"_Oh, yeah, what're you gonna wear_?"

"Stetson, leather chaps—and nothing else!" Lydia laughed, as Lorelai guessed the same way her thoughts were headed. "Exactly! And, I think I might've left my pink-striped beige socks with the giraffes on them in the oven. Can you check my dance shoes aren't in Rory's closet?"

"_Hey, did you get everything you need when you went shopping_?"

"All I need and more; you would not _believe_ the sales I hit! Amazing stuff; and I got my haggle on again," Lydia said proudly. "I'd shout off about the vintage stores I found, but you'd just embarrass me by making me _Paper_ _Moon_ them. However, I will gladly share my bounty."

"_Whose card did you charge_?"

"Please, Grandma's! She said Rory and I have a week until we have to give back the cards, I thought I'd do you proud before surrendering the Black card," Lydia sighed, munching on a nacho.

"_Oh, I love you, girly!_" Lorelai sighed warmly.

"I love you, too. Not as much as if we were zipping around Europe on our own Vespas, taste-testing Bellinis, with a room full of our shoes, but, you know, a girl can't have everything," Lydia said.

"_Sing it, sister. I'm glad you had a few good days while you were away_," Lorelai said warmly. "_Not that I approve of you cavorting with drunken Australian royalty, of course_."

"Well, he had a Vespa. My standards are not high. If he'd asked, I would've eloped," Lydia shrugged to herself. She frowned, staring down at Finn behind her sunglasses. "Actually, he did. And we might've. You can thank the debilitating powers of Ouzo for not having a son-in-law. God, that makes you sound _old_."

"_Not feeling the love anymore, Lyd!_" Lorelai laughed.

"I'm just saying; most women your age have only just decided to start having kids, let alone having two in an Ivy League school," Lydia said thoughtfully. "Hey, you wanna come up soon, we can show these rich snobs how to party."

"_Absolutely_," Lorelai chuckled.

"You keep your hands off Miss Patty's _Gatorade_," Lydia warned.

"_I will. I have no compunction to re-enact The Exorcist_," Lorelai said. "_You gotta go_?"

"Yeah, I probably should," Lydia said. "Rory was escorting the lads from the storage-unit to our room. Apparently Grandma's brainwashing that Connecticut royalty don't touch their luggage when they travel has stuck."

"_Well, at least one of you has your priorities in order_," Lorelai said approvingly.

"I'll show you my haul on Friday," Lydia sighed. "Although, you'd think we'd be exempt from Friday-night dinners for a while, given we spent two _months_ with Grandma. Something I didn't think anything would be able to prepare me for, but, I have to say, life with Paris has its perks."

"_You'd better go, grab the best room_," Lorelai suggested, and Lydia grunted softly in agreement.

"Yeah. Oh, I thought of a system."

"_A system_?"

"A scrunchie-system. I borrowed it from Brooke Davis. Yellow scrunchie means, 'we're just making out, but one or more of us might be topless'. Red means 'Headphones on, there's some serious action going on'. And black means you have to leave the building. I figured I have to get insurance in case Paris brings Asher back to our place—or Rory brings Dean," Lydia shuddered.

"_Well, work the system_," Lorelai said. "_I notice you didn't say anything about _you_ bringing guys back_."

"I don't bring guys back," Lydia said, shrugging to herself delicately. "If I had any desire to see the guy again, there's no way I'd expose him to _Paris_."

"_Great self-preservation instincts_," Lorelai said.

"Talk to you later?" Lydia sighed.

"_Later_," Lorelai said cheerfully. "_Bye, babe_."

"Love you." Lydia hung up, slipping the phone into Finn's jeans pocket, making him start a little; she picked up her things, took the nachos from Colin, and smiled.

"If he's recovered enough by tonight, tell him I'll buy him a Guinness at the Pub to say thanks," Lydia said to Logan, before making her way to her suite. "And if you can remember who I am, I'll buy you a round!"

"Thought you didn't have any money!" Logan shouted playfully.

"Don't have _laundry _money. I _always_ have _drinking_-money!" Lydia shouted back, laughing.

Room H10 was their new suite; hers, Rory's, Paris'. Lydia would arrive to find that Paris had arranged all of the furniture to her exact specifications and designated bedrooms, most of the things unpacked in the common-room, so all she had to do was get there, unpack her suitcases, and chill. She had already picked her classes, bought all of her books pre-loved and annotated from _eBay_ and _Amazon_, filled her new-season wardrobe, spent the last few days going through photographs with Lorelai and putting together a few huge collages for her bedroom walls, and making coffee-dates with friends. She was planning to reacquaint herself with the bartenders in the vicinity over the next few nights, which meant dragging Rory out for a blowout before school started properly and Rory the über-nun cloistered down for the semester.

She unlocked the door, stumbling into the common-room, her well-worn apple-green bistro chair clattering against the door, and she frowned. The room was bare but for their sofa, Rory and Marty.

"No Paris?" she asked, as she kicked several of her shopping-bags toward the centre of the room. She paused, frowning. "Something awful must have happened."

"Asher Fleming died," Rory said quietly, and Lydia glanced up from her nachos.

"In bed?"

"_No_," Rory sighed, giving her a look.

"I lost the pool," Lydia frowned.

* * *

The Pub was lively, not as full as it could be, but Lydia had missed the ambiance and familiarity of the Pub. A pint of Guinness on the high table in front of her, she had her pen and highlighter out, annotating a thin little black diary. She was smiling; her first night back on campus, she had already filled up the next three weeks with dates to meet up with friends, have coffee, go for a dessert, or a drink, or a real _date_-date with one of her boys. Max her gay stripper friend had his housewarming in a month; Lydia had set him up with his current partner.

Yale wasn't what she had been expecting at all. She had imagined it an even more uptight version of Chilton, just without the uniforms, and for a girl who was eccentric to a fault, proud as could be to take after her mother in almost every aspect of her lifestyle, Yale seemed like an odd choice for Lydia, based on her personality and hatred of _school_.

But her grandfather had gone to Yale. And, strange as it was, due to the fact that until she was sixteen, they had been completely estranged, Lydia had always kind of liked the idea of continuing on the tradition of going to Yale. To make her Grandpa proud. Then Rory had gotten her three acceptances, and chosen Yale, too. Richard Gilmore's favourite had chosen Yale; the disappointing, less-academic, certainly not angelic-natured Lydia had been brushed aside. But once she'd gotten to Yale, things had changed; suddenly, Lydia had started to hit her stride. Academically, she was finding more and more that Chilton had indeed prepared her for college, and Lorelai being her mother had prepared her for the insanity that was trying to prioritise a social life with academic success, and still look fabulous.

Lydia had always been able to make friends; now, her friends were all college-aged, and a lot of them—most of them, actually—were incredibly wealthy and adored travelling, and parties. Over the summer, Lydia had planned out her afternoons to meet specific friends wherever they happened to be vacationing in the same city. She made a few friends along the way, too: Logan, Colin and Finn were three examples of that; Lorelai used to say Lydia could talk to anybody and make them smile.

But she remembered Logan—how could she not remember Logan Huntzburger, when Lorelai wouldn't let her forget the huge crush Lydia had had on him ages six through twelve—from her grandparents' Christmas parties, and when she had met Logan and his friends in Santorini, they had caught up. Over moussaka, wine and ouzo, they had discovered that while Lydia and Rory were going into their sophomore year at Yale, Logan was going into his junior year after taking a break for six months, and his older sister Honour, who used to sneak her, Logan and Rory treats from the kitchen during Grandma's boring parties, was unofficially engaged to her boyfriend of three years.

She had spent an hour or so catching up with a lot of the casual friends she sometimes chatted with whenever she ended up at the Pub, making a lot of those dates she had penned into her diary.

"Ah, a little black book!" someone said cheerfully, and the diary disappeared from Lydia's fingertips; glancing up, she smiled, already knowing who it was. There was only one person, that she knew of, on campus with an Australian accent. He flipped through the pages she had just filled. "And here I thought you invited us to drink with you because you had no one else!"

"Hardly," Lydia smiled, plucking the book back from Finn's long, clever fingers.

"Well, Lydi, I hope you've got your ID on you, because I am _thirsty_," Finn smirked.

"ID. That's cute. How many people did you have to ask to get my name?" she asked, smiling.

"Not a single one. Think I could forget skinny-dipping off Santorini with you?" Finn smirked, and Lydia laughed as her cheeks warmed.

"Ah. That. That wasn't a dream," she smiled.

"No it was _not_," Finn grinned. "Although it plagues mine. I wake up in the middle of the night, calling your name."

"How about that," Lydia chuckled softly. "Here I thought you'd forget everything about your birthday-week."

"Most, not all," Finn retorted, with a charming grin.

"Well, thanks to you and the boys, I can never eat moussaka again without remembering your naked phase," Lydia remarked, sipping her Guinness, and Finn chuckled, sending her another charming smile.

"If I recall, you joined in too," he pointed out.

"I was sunbathing topless, I still had my bikini-bottoms on," Lydia replied.

"However little they were," Finn smirked.

"They're called 'Brazilian' for a reason," Lydia chuckled. Setting her glass down, she licked her lips and smiled. "So how about that drink? Where are the others?"

"They're here—they're over there," Finn said, jerking his head toward the bar, where Lydia saw Colin and Logan chatting up two familiar girls; pretty, blonde Juliet, and flirtatious redhead Rosemarie. Two members of the Life and Death Brigade; Lydia had partied with them a lot last year.

"Reacquainting themselves with campus-life?" Lydia smiled, tucking her diary into her plain cognac-leather _Clare_ _Vivier_ fold-over clutch, the expensive gift from Lorelai for her nineteenth birthday.

"Charming phrase for it," Finn smiled. "Coming over?"

"Absolutely," Lydia smiled, grabbing her drink, and she made her way over to pinch Juliet in the waist, making her giggle and squirm away. Smiling, Lydia carefully set her Guinness down before Juliet could squeal and launch herself at her, giving Lydia a huge hug; Rosemarie grinned and hugged her, exchanging kisses on the cheek.

"How much of your summer do _you_ remember?" Rosemarie asked, grinning.

"Only the most traumatising bits," Lydia smirked. "My grandmother without her makeup; Finn during his naked-phase."

"Oh, been there," Rosemarie said, shivering, and Juliet laughed at Finn's expression. Lydia caught Andrew's attention, telling him the boys' first drinks were on her.

"Hey, Gilmore," Logan said warmly, leaning in to hug her waist and kiss her head. "Good to see you again."

"Yeah, you too," Lydia smiled. "How did your tour finish up?"

"Uh, well… We sank the yacht," Logan grimaced guiltily, and Lydia glanced up, eyes widening.

"You _sank_ the yacht—the _million_-_dollar_ yacht? You—how could you _sink_ it?"

"You underestimate us, love," Finn said, raising his glass in thanks.

"But—a _million-dollar_ yacht," Lydia gaped.

"Well, my dad bought it for just shy, but—yeah," Logan said, grimacing again.

"Where?" Lydia asked, sipping her Guinness.

"Right off the coast of Fiji," Finn smiled.

"Man. If you'd outbid my grandmother and taken me on as your personal slave, we could've had a _Blue Lagoon_ thing going on," Lydia sighed, shaking her head, snapping her fingers. "I could've been the Brooke Shields to your Christopher Atkins."

"Every man's wet-dream," Logan smirked.

"Tell me about it," Finn grinned, sipping his drink. "Brooke Shields. Goddess."

"Don't get him in the mood. I am _not_ watching _Endless Love_ with you again, Finn," Colin remarked, and Lydia laughed.

"Hey, Colin," she smiled, as Colin reached to give her a gentle hug. "How's the sun-burn?"

"Healed, thank god," Colin said, chuckling.

"Hey, so, how's your grandmother?" Logan asked, indicating Andrew to bring another round over.

"Still ticking," Lydia said, and Logan chuckled. "I'll bet your father was absolutely _delighted_ by your sinking of the _Laconia_."

"Mitchum? He put the coast-guard's report up on the refrigerator by my first finger-painting, mug-shot and expulsion letters," Logan smirked.

"It's no wonder I bit him," Lydia said, sighing.

"You _bit_ Mitchum Huntzburger?" Colin arched an eyebrow.

"He went for the last apple-tart," Lydia said, eyes widening.

"Lydi's mom has a thing about the apple-tarts at Emily Gilmore's Christmas parties," Logan smiled.

"Emily Gilmore's your grandmother?" Finn frowned.

"You've met her, Finn," Colin smirked.

"You managed to feign sobriety long enough to let Logan convince her to let you take me off her hands for a few days," Lydia laughed.

"And you got away with your rendition of 'Summer Nights' outside their bedroom when we dropped Lydi off at her grandmother's hotel with minor injuries," Logan smirked.

"Yeah, sorry about beaning you in the head with my flip-flops," Lydia grimaced guiltily. "I didn't realise my aim was so accurate, especially when inebriated."

"I thought that was your neighbour," Finn said, pouting adorably; Lydia laughed.

"I'm sorry; I hadn't slept in two days," she smiled. She pointed at Colin. "Your fault."

"Yeah, thanks for springing me," Colin laughed.

"Well, it was very sweet of you to play the Wooster to my Florence Craye," Lydia said, smiling.

"And they say chivalry's dead," Finn remarked, grinning.

"I was on very good terms with the arresting officers by the time I got out," Colin smirked.

"How much did you owe them?" Lydia laughed.

"All but my dignity," Colin said drily, and Lydia laughed again.

"I think that was gone _way_ before we hit that club," she chuckled.

"True," Colin said, eyes widening as he sipped his drink.

"Hey, Lydi, are Friday nights still off for you?" Rosemarie asked.

"Nothing like a little soul-sucking to start off the weekend," Lydia sighed. "Yes, I still have Friday-night dinners with my grandparents."

"For how long?" Juliet asked.

"Until the day I die," Lydia said, shoulders slumping as she sipped her Guinness.

"Well, we need to conference, because _we_ have had ideas," Juliet beamed.

"Are you free tomorrow?" Rosemarie asked. "A little shopping, we can take Juliet out to lunch."

"Absolutely," Lydia smiled, laughing at Juliet's expression. "Hey, I can show you the new vintage boutique I found. What were you thinking?"

"Pearl Harbour, Amelia Earhart," Juliet smiled.

"Different eras, but I like it," Lydia chuckled. "Twin-engines, Howard Hughes?"

"Ava Gardner," Rosemarie smiled.

"_And_ Marie Antoinette," Juliet beamed.

"Birthday scene or Petit Trianon?"

"Why not both?" Juliet grinned. Lydia shrugged, smiling. "Meadow casino, champagne towers, chandeliers, _macarons_."

"And, we saved the best for last," Rosemarie grinned.

"Oh, what?"

"Well, we went through some of that list you gave us," Juliet smiled. "_Bugsy_ _Malone_, _Chicago_, _Burlesque_—"

"I'm sensing a theme here," Lydia smiled.

"She made me watch the first two seasons of _Gossip Girl_," Rosemarie put in, grimacing, glancing at Juliet.

"_Ju_liet?" Lydia gasped.

"And an episode of _The Vampire Diaries_," Rosemarie sighed.

"Hey, they were educational; Stefan and Rebekah go to an underground cocktail bar; Chuck opens a burlesque club," Juliet said defensively, eyes widening. "So, we thought, _speakeasies_. Never go out of fashion."

"Everybody loves booze," Finn spoke up.

"Custom cocktails, amazing dresses, finger-curls," Rosemarie grinned. "Guys in their finest."

"Could be fun," Lydia smiled.

"Hey, when are we gonna have girls' night?" Juliet asked. "We seriously need to discuss this year's draft choices."

"Very true," Lydia said, aware that, while the boys were chatting quietly amongst themselves, they were keeping an eye on them. The _draft_ was an idea that had come to the female members of the Life and Death Brigade, to prevent inter-club catfights over the available men. Last year, Lydia had wound up with Robert; fantastic partier, incredible repartee, very bright. Perfect to chat with at LDB functions, but neither of them had felt anything for each other beyond enjoying someone who understood their pop-references; Robert had taught Lydia how to shoot, and she had set him up with several successful casual dates.

"You did bring that cute antique absinthe fountain back, right?" Rosemarie asked.

"Of course!" Lydia laughed. "I'm never getting rid of that!"

"I have _missed_ your iced coffees," Rosemarie smiled.

"I would not be a Gilmore if I didn't understand and exploit the subtle science and exact art that is coffee-making," Lydia grinned.

"Hey, did you hear? They're doing _yogalates_ at the gym," Rosemarie said. Lydia stared at her.

"Alright, pause; _yogalates_?" Colin put in.

"Yoga and pilates, put to music," Rosemarie said, smiling happily. "Since Tom our Modern Dance instructor went and got _married_."

"I'm crushed," Juliet said, eyes widening.

"He could've been the one," Lydia said compassionately, patting her arm.

"You wanna come with us?" Juliet asked brightly. "To the…gym?" Lydia stared inquisitively. _Gym_? They wanted her to _work out_?

"Oh, sorry," Rosemarie laughed. "We forgot. You're allergic to anything that involves exercise."

"How about I meet you after?" Lydia proposed. "Far safer." She grinned at Juliet. "I'll let you watch me eat a Belgian waffle."

"Tease!" Juliet pouted.

"She's only a tease if what she does gets you hot," Finn remarked.

"Thanks, John Bender," Lydia smirked. Finn winked.

"Hey, you know what, they just put a salon in at the gym," Rosemarie said. "You could get a pedicure or a massage while we work out."

"Skip the spa, love, I'll give you a massage any day," Finn remarked, winking at Lydia.

"You should take him up on that," Juliet said, eyebrows rising earnestly. "Hands are _magic_."

"Then we wouldn't have our Damon's mornings," Rosemarie pointed out.

"_Damon's_?" Logan laughed, giving them a look.

"Best greasy-spoon outside of Stars Hollow," Lydia said, sipping her Guinness. "_Fourteen_ different kinds of pie. Fresh-baked doughnuts up the wazoo."

"Damon's her chilli-cheese fries guy," Rosemarie smirked, and Lydia grinned.

"Took me a while to find the perfect hangover food, but _Damon_—double layer of chunky fries with perfect ratio of cheese to chilli to fries throughout," Lydia said.

"Watching her eat it is like food porn," Juliet grinned.

"Have you been watching _Food Network_ again?" Lydia sighed. "You _know_ you just torture yourself."

"I'm saving up all the things I want to eat, so that when I sign that iron-clad pre-nup, I can go to town," Juliet grinned.

"I see. Who's the totty this semester?"

"The Hairy Bikers," Juliet said.

"Seriously?"

"Okay, they're not much to look at, but have you watched some of their stuff? They're insane!" Juliet laughed. "Oh, and Rachel Khoo."

"Now _her_, I wouldn't mind souz-chefing for," Finn remarked.

"You've been watching the _Food Network_ too!" Juliet grinned.

"It's back on, apparently," Finn remarked idly, swilling his drink around the glass.

"_History_ _Channel_'s over," Colin agreed.

"Oh!" Juliet grinned, bouncing a little on her stool.

"Yes!" Rosemarie laughed, exchanging a look with her best-friend; they both smiled at Lydia.

"We finally get what you mean," Juliet said. "The _Doctor_. The _fez_, the bowtie."

"We sat down and watched seasons five and six, as per your request," Rosemarie smirked. "You were right."

"See, _sexy_! Finally! Thank you!" Lydia laughed.

"I've already got my costume picked out for Halloween," Rosemarie smirked; Lydia guessed the redhead was going to do the classic policewoman Amy Pond.

"Oh, hey! They're playing _Rocky Horror_ next week," Lydia beamed. "I've already convinced Robert to come."

"You've still got your French maid's outfit?"

"My mom might have it at home, I have to check my suitcase," Lydia said; she kept all of her 'dress-up clothes' in a vintage brown leather suitcase lined with vintage style travel-sticker paper, but with her burgeoning romance with Luke, Lydia was sure that her mother would want to flirt some in the apron and feather-duster.

"What's this about _Rocky_ _Horror_?" Finn asked, slinging an arm around both Lydia's and Rosemarie's shoulders.

"They're playing it over at the arts complex next week," Lydia said.

"Legend!" Finn grinned. "I'll be there. Pre-drinks?"

"Here," Lydia said.

"Are you rooming with your bookworm sister?" Rosemarie asked, crinkling her nose that way she had.

"Yup."

"And that scary journalist girl?" Juliet asked.

"Yep."

"Are you gonna be crashing on our sofa sometimes?"

"Yep."

"Cool; otherwise, the clothes and shoes never get cleaned up from the common-area," Rosemarie grinned.

"I know!" Lydia laughed. As Finn downed a shot taken from a passing tray and Logan extricated himself from a girl he had been reacquainting himself with, Lydia asked him, "Hey, are you coming to _Rocky_ _Horror_?"

"Yeah, you can borrow Lydia's gold hot-pants from Disco Night," Juliet laughed.

"Absolutely," Lydia grinned.

"_Rocky Horror_? Sure," Logan grinned; he frowned remonstratively at Finn. "Finn, buddy, remember that a top-hat does not a costume make."

"Though if my grandmother's between maids, he can borrow the apron," Lydia smirked, glancing at Finn, who chuckled as he took a drink.

"Hey, I just thought—karaoke night!" Juliet said, clapping her hands excitedly, before hugging Finn. "Now that you're back, we have to reinstate karaoke night."

"You up for that, Lydi?" Rosemarie chuckled, giving her a grimace. "Finn's the reigning Queen of the Karaoke."

"A queen, huh," Lydia laughed, as Finn preened. "Well, it's been my experience that a queen must at some point pass on the crown."

"By whatever means necessary," Logan laughed. "Please, don't let them re-invoke karaoke-night!"

"Sorry; I enjoy it _way_ too much," Lydia grinned. She glanced at Rosemarie. "Would you object to me inviting Paris and Rory to join our team for Pub Quiz?"

"Pub Quiz?" Colin asked, glancing up.

"Yeah, we seriously need to get out of our fourth-place rut," Rosemarie nodded.

"It was an embarrassment," Juliet sighed. "Only you could answer questions, Lyd."

"I would like to raise a glass to my mother; thank you for watching _Cop Rock_, _Chico and the Man_ and everything Judy Garland," Lydia said, raising her Guinness. "You kept us out of last-place, at least."

"Are there any entry-requirements or hazing involved if someone were to wish to join said Pub Quiz group?" Colin asked. Lydia glanced at the girls, grinning.

"Is there hazing, ladies?" she asked sweetly.

"Not in the past," Juliet smiled.

"But for you, Colin, we can definitely make an exception," Rosemarie smirked.

"I'm seeing…paddles and condiments," Lydia mused. Excited, she grinned. "I can wear my 'Seniors' t-shirt."

"And cut-offs," Rosemarie added.

"I think I still have a pacifier in my Emergency Kit from babysitting Gigi," Lydia said, smiling.

"_Dazed and Confused_," Logan smiled. "There's two hours of my life I want back."

"Along with the weeks you've lost to inebriation," Lydia smirked, and Logan conceded with a nod and a smile. "_Dazed and Confused_ is a _classic_. My mom taught us to do shots by it! That and _Pirate Radio_; they're great for drinking-games."

"Hey, did you hit Budapest this summer?"

"Yeah, I dragged Rory back to the place my mom got us drunk on absinthe," Lydia grinned. "I got my own sent of absinthe glasses, too. You know, I think my grandmother seriously missed a few chapters of her college education; in Amsterdam, she missed the signs of me being _completely_ stoned. She thought I had a migraine!"

"You met up with Robert in Amsterdam, right?"

"Yes, and as soon as he appears, I'll show you all the wonderful pictures I took of him," Lydia grinned. "He really needs to put on some weight; he whited out so fast!"

"Are saying you didn't white-out?" Finn smirked.

"It wasn't the first time I'd been to that café," Lydia grinned. "I already knew the dosage in the brownies."

"Your mom again?" Juliet smiled.

"She figured it'd be better to send me and Rory off to college with a lot of those firsts out of the way," Lydia said.

"A lot?" Rosemarie called, grinning as she sauntered over to the bar for another round.

"Not all," Lydia called back, smirking. Several intense games of Truth or Dare during Girls' Night in Rosemarie and Juliet's suite had created a bond based on tequila, secret confessions and shared conquests. "You've gotta stop hitting on me, Rose! I told you, I'm saving my experimentation for my _junior_ year!"

"It's _my_ junior year!" Rosemarie called back, laughing.

"Well, maybe I'll throw you a bone on your birthday," Lydia laughed. "Pun definitely intended."

"Thanks! And Taylor Kitsch wrapped up in a red bow?" Rosemarie asked.

"Still working on that," Lydia smiled.

"Okay, I feel a lipstick crisis coming on," Juliet declared. "Watch my drink?" Lydia nodded, and when Rosemarie had delivered a fresh round of drinks, Juliet and Rosemarie skipped off to the bathrooms.

"So, how do you know Juliet and Rosemarie?" Finn asked curiously.

"Finn's been trying to get Rosemarie into bed since freshman-year," Logan smirked.

"So, tell," Colin smirked. "Why is Rosemarie ready to jump into bed with you?"

"You mean besides my dazzlingly beautiful face and knockout body?" Lydia asked, laughing as she sipped her Guinness. "Well, it's a long story, how we met, and if I told you, I'd have to kill you. And I'm not that athletic or strong, so it'd be a lot of effort, I'd get crabby, end up leaving forensic evidence, whatever, so it's better I just not tell you."

"When Rosemarie mentioned Robert, she didn't mean—?"

"Gentlemen," a voice said, and Robert appeared. He smiled at Lydia, leaning in to kiss her cheek, a hand on her stomach familiarly. "Lady."

"Who are you calling a lady?" Lydia teased.

"Someone who got me back to my hotel-room _without_ handing me over to a transvestite stripper for the photo-ops," Robert said.

"I'd run out of cash," Lydia sighed, snapping her fingers. "But don't worry; you're not the only one I've got incriminating evidence against."

"Now, now, love, I'd say we've got a fair amount of incriminating evidence against _you_," Finn remarked.

"Yes, but if you were to release photographs of Lydia's bare breasts, her social-life would increase exponentially," Robert smirked.

"Whereas the photos I have of you…" Lydia trailed off delicately, and Robert grinned behind his beer.

"Hey!" Finn exclaimed, his cheeks colouring subtly. "None of that, love!"

"Well, I can show the photos to Rosemarie, get her verdict. Who knows, it might help convince her to go home with you," Lydia smirked.

"True," Finn said thoughtfully.

"By the way, Finn, you owe me thirty dollars," Robert said, stony-faced; Lydia laughed as Finn sighed, counting out notes from his wallet before passing them to Robert. Robert glanced at her, smiling. "So have you filled in your little black book for the next few months?"

"I might have a few evenings open," Lydia smiled warmly. She did enjoy going out with Robert, mostly because he was always delightfully _un_surprised by her level of intellect. To look at, Lydia wasn't the type of girl who would read five different newspapers every morning, watch obscure nature programmes or foreign-language films and documentaries, read incredibly difficult fourteenth-century literature and Russian novels, could speak not only Korean fluently (thanks to Lane) whenever they went for Korean barbecue, but could speak French, Italian, Latin and Spanish, and could recite several Shakespeare plays by heart, who had been raised by a pop-culture glut, and who had been introduced three years ago to the highest society and everything that an education in the hardest private school in the country could entail.

"Excellent," Robert smiled. "How about steak-dinner?"

"May I enquire as to the occasion?" Lydia smiled, bringing out her diary.

"Do I need an occasion?" Robert retorted; Lydia gave him a look, and he grinned. "Hopefully we can discuss the probability of my acquiring Estella George's number." Lydia pulled a thoughtful face.

"Low, I'd say. She and Hugh are still on the rocks," she said, giving Robert a look.

"If I throw in after-dinner cocktails will you push Hugh off said rocks?" Robert asked, giving her a twinkling smile.

"Oh, Robert, you know I don't respond to bribes—" Robert gave her a smirk that said it all, and Lydia laughed. "Cocktails where?"

"Red Room," Robert shrugged.

"I suppose I could encourage Estella to explore her options," Lydia grinned mischievously, uncapping her pen. "Just be very charming and utterly irresistible. And use limited vocabulary. Estella gets very touchy when she figures out she's not the brightest of sparks."

"Wear that fabulous red dress of yours," Robert said, kissing her hair as he squeezed her waist familiarly. "I love taking you out when you're in that red dress. By association, I look even more handsome."

"Push-up bra? Highest heels?" Lydia asked, and Robert winked. Beaming, Lydia laughed as she rested a hand on his shoulder. "You're an easy man to please, Robert." Robert smiled, strode off to the bar to get a round, leaving Lydia to sip her Guinness, Colin and Finn staring at her.

"What?" she asked, smiling.

"My god, you're incredible," Finn grinned.

"Thank you, I get it from my mother," Lydia smiled.

"Lydia has impeccable taste in women," Robert remarked, reappearing with a tray full of drinks. "I've never had a single bad date with girls she's set me up with."

"Oh, really?" Colin smirked. "Your standards must not be that high."

"Robert's standards are irritatingly high," Lydia smiled.

"Well, let's put your talents to the test," Finn grinned, settling an arm around her shoulders. "Tell me, right now, who would go home with me."

"How about you start by pointing out which girls you'd like to go home with you?" Lydia grinned. "And I'll tell you whether I think you have any shot or if you're _hopelessly_ deluded."

"You're making my life so much easier, love," Finn smiled.

"You mean your sex-life," Lydia corrected.

"Semantics," Finn smirked, and Lydia laughed. Less-inebriated, wearing far more clothing, the bond between Lydia and the boys she had met in Santorini was still the same; incredibly fun, very flirtatious and with a lot of witty banter. She hadn't seen Juliet or Rosemarie since the end of spring semester, despite having kept in contact over emails and Facebook photo-albums, so it was fun to catch up, and pretend, when Finn started trying to press Rosemarie to go home with him, that they were lovers. While the boys downed drink after drink, Lydia slowly went through her first and then half a second pint of Guinness, dancing with the girls, chatting with Logan, Colin and Robert, and laughing as Finn flirted with them all, particularly Rosemarie and Lydia.

"I absolutely love _redheads_," Finn declared, after downing another shot.

"Red goes great with your complexion," Lydia said thoughtfully. "It's a great colour for you."

"My favourite colour," Finn nodded. "By the way—how did you know the access code on my phone?"

"You gave it to me," Lydia smiled.

"Why would I do something like that?" Finn blinked bemusedly, staring at her.

"Well, we were engaged; you said sharing such crucial information as cell-phone pass-codes was the first step in formalising our engagement," Lydia said, patting his hands; she noticed they were large, with long, clever fingers, nicely tanned, fingernails trimmed and clean.

"Oh, that's right! We are _betrothed_," Finn smirked playfully, his pretty eyes scanning her features closely. "If I strike out in love, will you marry me?"

"Take a number," Robert said, deadpan, and the boys laughed.

"You'd better hope Lydia keeps you around when we do this year's draft, Robert," Rosemarie cooed teasingly.

"Even if Robert gets _sniped_ from me, there will always be a special place for him in my heart," Lydia said, cupping Robert's chin tenderly, smiling warmly.

"I'm very glad to hear that," Robert smiled. "Otherwise it will fall on me to take someone of inferior intellect out to dinner, thus slowly leeching my will to live."

"Oh, Finn," Lydia said softly, setting her glass down as she caught sight of someone at the bar, touching Finn's bare arm, strangely loving how warm he was. "Redhead, your ten o'clock."

"Nice," Finn grinned.

"Now, her, you're a shoo-in. A huge slut with obsessive-compulsive personal hygiene," Lydia said, nodding. "Go for it." Juliet tugged lightly on Lydia's top, leaning in and murmuring, "Doesn't she have a boyfriend?"

"Hugely overprotective linebacker," Lydia smirked. "He's clueless; she has a new guy every other night."

"Finn's type," Logan smirked.

"You really are infallible when it comes to picking out women," Colin smirked, as Finn and Kit the redhead seemed to click.

"It's a gift," Lydia smiled, sipping her drink.

"If I take you out for Thai food, will you hook me up with the woman of my dreams?" Colin asked.

"I don't have enough pull to get Doutzen Kroes to go out for drinks with you, Colin," Lydia smiled.

"Very astute assumption, that I prefer blondes," Colin smirked.

"Who doesn't?" Lydia chuckled.

"We get to have all the fun," Juliet beamed.

"I disagree," Lydia objected, smiling. She picked up her slice of the gooey cheese pizza Logan had had Andrew bring out from the kitchen, held it in front of her lips, and, smiling and gazing at Juliet, took a bite. Her hands shaking, Juliet squealed.

"One little bite!"

"No."

"Thank you!" Juliet gasped. "God, if I could eat the way you do and still look like you—!"

"Looks like Finn's going to have a good night," Logan remarked, and Lydia glanced up in time to see Finn staggering out of the Pub with Kit the slut.

"You amaze me," Colin said, gazing at Lydia, as he raised his glass to toast her.

"To Lydia's infallible instincts," Robert said, chinking glasses delicately with Colin.

"May she get us all laid," Colin said solemnly.

"And hopefully not with any of us," Rosemarie said, raising her drink.

"I'll drink to that," Lydia laughed, chinking glasses with her.

"Gilmore, I'm crushed," Logan chuckled. Lydia smiled, shrugging delicately as she sipped her drink.

* * *

**A.N.**: As sometimes happens in life, I wanted Lydia to be thrown into the Logan-Colin-Finn circle, already friends with Juliet and Rosemarie and friendly with Robert, to already show the difference between Rory and Lydia, that Lydia's the social butterfly, very outgoing and flirtatious—Lorelai Jr. in a lot of ways.


	2. Chapter 2

**A.N.**: Thank you to _Dark-n-Twisty_ for the review, and I appreciate people adding this story to their favourites, but _please review_. Let me know why you like this story!

* * *

**The Lorelai Paradox**

_02_

* * *

Thirty dollars, a list of new phone-numbers and a camera full of memories was what Lydia woke up with the next morning; a pint and a half of Guinness, slowly drunk, had gotten her through the night while the boys got slowly more and more drunk, exchanging summer stories, while Lydia had danced with the girls and flirted with Finn when he had stumbled back to the Pub with his shirt on inside-out, at peace but desiring to rehydrate. It had taken the strength of two men, one woman and a bartender to stop him playing Darts in his inebriation.

From laughing her way home, dropped off by Juliet and Rosemarie on their way back to their shared off-campus apartment, to waking up early and walking into a common-room draped in funereal shades and stacks of Professor Fleming's last novel, the sunny atmosphere issuing through the windows onto the courtyard fell slightly flat as Paris bustled around the common-room, stricken and upset. After uploading the photographs from the previous night onto _Facebook_—the only reason she used it, to share pictures—and tagging the boys she had just recently added as Friends, she showered and dressed, unpacked another good chunk of her belongings, and, used to avoiding Paris when she got into her multitude of moods, Lydia picked up her purse and met Juliet and Rosemarie for coffee and shopping.

The benefit of being one of the event-planners for the big Life and Death Brigade blowouts—those that didn't include sky-diving or white-water rapids—was that they had first dibs on costume ideas, and, weeks before the event, Lydia had learned to put together her outfit with vintage pieces or customised salvage finds, or just making things up herself. She was the go-to guru on campus for alterations, with her little sewing-machine, the big present from Lorelai for her twelfth birthday when she had first shown an interest in helping her mother with the costumes for school and town productions.

"Okay, why do you not look at _all_ like you're sharing this monster hangover?" Rosemarie asked, behind her huge sunglasses.

"I had a pint and a half," Lydia smirked. "You know I can make my drinks last."

"Smart," Juliet sighed.

"Okay, so can we please do five minutes on the boys?" Rosemarie asked, going through a rack of pretty vintage tops.

"Where to begin?" Lydia chuckled softly, shooting Rosemarie a look.

"They are looking _really_ good this year," Juliet smiled.

"They say absence makes the heart grow fonder," Lydia said thoughtfully.

"Yeah. Sex does that also," Rosemarie added, making Lydia laugh.

"Finn was _totally_ vibing on you," she smirked.

"Oh. That," Rosemarie sighed, rolling her eyes. "We had a thing when I was a freshman. Nothing came of it; Finn just likes to flirt."

"Plus, she likes the attention," Juliet smirked.

"I'm sorry, but how to you sink a million-dollar yacht?" Lydia blurted, going through a rack of dresses.

"I have _no_ idea," Rosemarie laughed.

"It's always best not to underestimate those boys," Juliet said, nodding. "So, you met them before?"

"Logan was always invited to my grandparents' Christmas party," Lydia said. "It was the only draw. Logan, and the apple-tarts. And I met up with them by chance in Santorini at the end of July."

"End of July," Rosemarie frowned thoughtfully. "That would've been around Finn's birthday, right?"

"Yep. Finn's birthday-week. Logan conned my grandmother into letting me go and spend a few days with them. I think he intended for me to be Finn's birthday-present," Lydia smirked.

"I'll bet Finn would have loved that," Rosemarie smirked.

"So how was it?" Juliet smiled. "Finn's birthday-week?"

"Eventful," Lydia laughed, examining the array of vintage purses and clutches. "Sun-burn, Ouzo, skinny-dipping, incarceration… _Snuggling_."

"You and Finn?"

"Finn and Colin," Lydia smirked. "Okay, and me and Finn, too, but the photos of Finn and Colin are far more hilarious."

"You'll give us copies?" Rosemarie grinned.

"Absolutely," Lydia beamed.

"_So_?" Rosemarie smiled, and Juliet grinned as she tiptoed over to her best-friend. Lydia glanced from face to face, wary over their expressions.

"What?"

"_So_, did anything _happen_?" Juliet grinned excitedly. Lydia shivered; she knew when the girls got to this state, there was no stopping the inquisition.

"_No_, nothing happened in Santorini," she blushed, smiling, looking over a mini carved-wood tote that she had instantly fallen in love with.

"Nothing? Knowing what we do about those boys—"

"And you—"

"Hey!"

"You expect us to believe _nothing_ happened?"

"Just some…topless seafood feasts…making out while we went skinny-dipping… There might've been a marriage-proposal," Lydia said, cheeks warming as she giggled softly; Rosemarie and Juliet looked like they were about to explode from excitement. "Ask."

"Did you—?"

"_No_, I didn't sleep with Finn," Lydia said, rolling her eyes, smiling.

"He seemed to like you," Juliet said, smiling prettily.

"Well, he's seen me naked," Lydia shrugged, and Rosemarie laughed.

"I find that's the best pick-up line," she smirked. "So, do you want to draft him?"

"Who?"

"Finn!"

"Oh," Lydia blinked, glancing up from the array of vintage bracelets and watches.

"Because Logan will be snapped up by whoever gets first-choice," Juliet nodded.

"We should start rigging the draft-order now," Rosemarie frowned.

"Colin, I'm not sure about; he and Robert are always on a par," Juliet said. "So unless you want Robert again…"

"I don't know," Lydia said thoughtfully. "Even before the draft, we enjoyed spending time together, and if he wants to be drafted by someone else, I won't stop her—but I do enjoy planning to take over the world during our steak-dinner nights. And if he's drafted by someone else, I might not be able to set him up on more dates."

"Depends who gets him," Juliet said.

"If Tinsley or Chantal nab him, I'm sure he'll be absolutely _fine_ not having you set him up with other girls," Rosemarie smirked.

"True," Lydia scoffed. "So, have you girls been on the hunt?"

"For?"

"The new generation?" Lydia smiled.

"Slim pickings this year," Juliet sighed.

"We'll dominate," Rosemarie smiled happily. "So, do you want Finn?"

"And we're back," Lydia chuckled softly, as Juliet zoomed to a beaded clutch. She glanced over at Rosemarie. "Do _you_ want Finn?" Juliet grinned at her as Rosemarie spluttered indignantly.

"_No_!"

"Well, you keep asking me whether I want Finn, I can only come to the conclusion that you're harping on the same subject because you're warm for Finn's form," Lydia said, and Juliet giggled as she handed Lydia a floaty periwinkle top to try on.

"I am _not_ warm for Finn's form!" Rosemarie gasped, looking horrified.

"Deny, deny, deny, those flushed cheeks will _always_ tell the truth," Juliet smirked.

"Come on! You know I haven't felt anything for Finn since the hangover the first week we were here," Rosemarie protested.

"It lasted three days," Juliet grimaced, and Lydia laughed as she tried on the top in the back changing-closet.

"I've been there," she chuckled, pushing the curtain aside to let Juliet look, as Juliet appeared in a floral-hemmed Sixties shift-dress. "Pretty!"

"God, I wish I had your eyes!" Juliet grinned. "That top really makes them pop."

"Like a punch in the face," Lydia grinned. "I'm getting it. You?"

"Not sure," Juliet said thoughtfully, crinkling her forehead sweetly. "I might come back for it if I still want it."

"Hey, we've been thinking, we should do the _Marie_ _Antoinette_ meadow party soon," Rosemarie called gently. "We found the most amazing costume-seamstress in Manhattan, we showed her some screen-caps from the movie, got us…how many dresses did she make up for us?"

"Four," Juliet said. "We can give the extra to Stephanie."

"You had someone make eighteenth-century muslin gowns?" Lydia chuckled, smiling.

"Yours is _so_ gorgeous; the sash is this really pretty watered silk, it's like…the colour of cornflowers," Juliet beamed.

"And we figured out a way to do our hair," Rosemarie called.

"I was going through my old _Wildfox_ look-books; totally found one with _Marie_ _Antoinette_ hair and makeup," Juliet grinned. "And we found a great way to keep the invitations _incognito_ when we deliver them around the dorms."

"Oh?"

"Recycled-card chocolate boxes," Juliet said. "We found a vendor. We can stamp them with the gorilla so people know who they're from; inside, we can put a printed invitation and a little keepsake to hint at the theme."

"How're you gonna get the guys to wear breeches and wigs?" Lydia asked, smiling, as she carried the periwinkle top and carved wood clutch out of the changing-area.

"We have our methods," Rosemarie smirked.

"They all involve alcohol," Juliet grinned.

"Sly," Lydia laughed.

"I wouldn't worry too much about getting _Finn_ to play along," Juliet chuckled. "He's never met a theme he hasn't loved."

"The best was the Cowboys-and-Indians party," Rosemarie laughed.

"Let me guess. Finn showed up wearing a Stetson and nothing else," Lydia smirked.

"You already have him pegged!" Rosemarie laughed. Lydia shrugged, smiling; she didn't think Finn took much getting to know, he played everything pretty much out in the open. The girls paid for their purchases, picking up fresh iced coffees as they meandered back towards campus, chatting and planning.

"What if we do a double-whammy; a fortnight dedicated to Drafting, with the first week overlapping with initiation week?" Lydia suggested, while Rosemarie and Juliet argued good-naturedly over scheduling. "After initiation, the Freshman girls can have their own draft week with the Freshman guys, that way the tradition will stick."

"We've got all the quotes and plans ready to put in place for any of the themes," Juliet said thoughtfully, smiling at Lydia (a master planner, taking after Lorelai, who was known for her blowouts). "We could bring in the recruits on a really high note, the meadow casino; and we'll have the stat-books ready for this weekend."

"_Marie-Antoinette_ party this weekend?" Rosemarie beamed. "We'll have to get the word out."

"Easy, I've got everyone's contacts," Juliet said, indicating her _iPhone_.

"Folding fans for the girls; tri-corn hats for the boys," Rosemarie said. "We can ship them overnight. I am totally wearing an ostrich-plume in my hair. It's the one and only chance I can do it and get away with it."

"Isn't that a fire-hazard, with all the candles?" Lydia asked, reminded of the scare during their murder-mystery house-party.

"Rats," Rosemarie sighed.

"You could wear little feathers," Lydia suggested.

"Little feathers, low necklines and diamonds," Juliet beamed. "I like it."

"What about _stockings_?" Rosemarie grinned.

"Ribbon garters; love them," Lydia laughed. "And _heels_."

"We should do a major shoe session," Juliet beamed, as Lydia turned her thoughts to customising a pair of heels _a la_ the custom _Manolo_ _Blahnik_ heels in _Marie_ _Antoinette_.

"We have to get together to sort out the draft order," Rosemarie said, "and put dibs on our first choices."

"I love seniority," Lydia sighed, smiling.

"Start thinking about who you want," Juliet smirked. "I do not want to see two fine, educated, gorgeous girls like you devolve into a catfight over _Finn_."

* * *

Possessed of a new purse, top, studded t-bar flats, a bag of goodies from _Sephora_, a fuchsia '_Cherry Coke, Enjoy the Taste of the 80s_' t-shirt and two books, Lydia returned to her dorm in high spirits, spirits not even Paris' funereal attitude could break as she organised her CDs, shoes, stacks of books and tucked her bags in the bottom of her closet with several plastic tubs filled with books. She had already set up her little-but-powerful stereo and had _Sparks_ playing as she got her posters up on her wall where she wanted them, eyeing up the walls to put nails up for her corkboard, shadowboxes and photo-frames, as well as her collages.

Tugging her Lorelai'd work helmet on (the pink helmet had a faux-fur trim, pompoms, a nail-polish mural and rhinestones), she grabbed her hammer, the mini toolkit Luke had put together for her, and frowned at the contents of her suitcase, the one she kept her costumes in, including the made-over work-helmet. Inside was her handmade Snow White dress, cape and bow; cavewoman bikini _a la_ Loana the Fair One; _Wonder Woman_; 1940s nurse; her toga and handmade gold chiffon laurels; Maid Marion by way of Sibylla from _Kingdom of Heaven_; a top-hat-wearing _Alice_ extra from Wits End in Underland; kitty-kat ears and tail; an array of pieces for _Rocky Horror_, a tiara, bumblebee wings, a halo, a bowler-hat, a _Tinkerbelle_ skirt and several pairs of gloves. But there were things missing, one very conspicuous.

She was missing her candy-striper outfit—remnant of her charity volunteer days—her French maid's costume (for _Rocky_ _Horror_), and her Life and Death Brigade gorilla mask. She was sure she had packed it; it might be in amongst Rory's stuff.

"Paris?" she shouted, flinging her door open, bounding out of her bedroom into the common-area, where Paris was straightening up piles of Professor Fleming's latest novel pedantically. "Is Rory here?"

"She _just_ left to put up some posters," Paris said, dark eyes scanning the room: Lydia's bedroom-door was opposite Rory's, across the suite and as far-removed from Paris' room as possible; she had the smallest room, but the sunniest, and had the prettiest view out into the courtyard, with a flowerbed beneath and shade from a young tree. Approaching the door, Lydia could actually hear Rory's voice, and another, less-familiar but still memorable, saying, "_Sorry, it's just…you're putting a poster of him up in your hallway, you can see where I get the impression he was a little bit more than a teacher_."

"_Well, he was more than a teacher_," Rory replied tersely. "_He was a great writer and an inspiration, and many other things that you couldn't possibly understand_."

"_You don't like me_," the male voice said wonderingly. "_You don't know me, but you don't like me_."

"_I know you_," Rory said tersely. The second, male voice registered, and, realising who it was, Lydia whipped the door open.

"Rory!" she called, peering around, and saw Rory, flush-faced and irritated, frowning at Logan Huntzburger. "I'm glad you didn't run off. Even over _Sparks_, your girlish tones hit me like the lash of a riding-crop."

"Lydia!" Logan smiled, surprised, when he glanced over his shoulder. Ever his wingmen, Colin and Finn turned to stare at her, Finn's face inexplicably lighting up, lowering the _Post It_ pad and pen he had been scribbling with.

"Hello," Lydia smiled, winking. "Colin, hi."

"Lydia, darling, you're the _only_ one who can help me," Finn said, his expression earnest and enchantingly sweet, his pretty eyes glowing warmly.

Lydia grimaced. "How bad is the rash?" Colin chuckled.

"Lydi, why do you have that?" Rory asked, eyeing the hammer warily.

"Picture-hanging," Lydia smiled, raising the hammer. "I just need to find my tool-belt. With you in a Stetson and lasso, you can be the cowboy—ah, volunteers!" she beamed at the boys. "You can be the last three members of the _Village_ _People_. We can take our show on the road, college campus to college campus, performing for pie and tequila."

"Lydia," Rory sighed, still pink-cheeked.

"Okay, Rory, _you_ can be the cop," Lydia said, raising her hand defensively.

"Lydia, you are not doing construction-work in here," Rory said beseechingly.

"Why not? Bob Vila's my bitch," Lydia said, blinking.

"Do I have to remind you about the Rebuilding Together incident?" Rory asked; Lydia frowned, trying to remember what went wrong the day she had helped Rory build a house. "You threw a _hammer_ at someone!"

"Jump back!" Lydia gasped indignantly. "I did no such thing! There was no _Seven Brides for Seven Brothers_ brawl-in-the-barn moment! It slipped from my hand, and _he_ wasn't wearing a helmet."

"Darwin's theory," Colin remarked.

"The meek get pinched," Finn grinned. "Only the bold survive."

"That's a hammer?" Colin frowned, perplexed, at the hammer Lydia was still waving around. Lydia blinked, glanced at the hammer, and looked back up at Colin.

"Yes."

"It has gold sequins, pink pompoms and _feathers_," Colin smirked. Lydia blinked.

"You're forgetting the gold swirly pipe-cleaner," she said, waving the hammer in front of his face. "My mother made it. Elegant and understated. One time, Mom made little outfits for Rory's liquid-paper bottles. A clown, a cowboy…a newscaster." She glanced from Finn to Colin and back. "She's not nuts, she just sounds it."

"It's the Lorelai effect," Logan smiled, amused, at the hammer, and the hard-hat. "Take something ugly and make it pretty."

"You remember!" Lydia laughed.

"Your mother's unforgettable for many reasons. She used to sneak me gummy-bears during my mother's no-sugar phase," Logan shrugged, hands in his pockets.

"Your mother had a lot of phases. You asked Lorelai to adopt you, very Matilda to her Miss Honey," Lydia smiled.

"Except my father's Miss Trunchbull. By the way, I'm still hoping we can catch up on those lost childhood memories," Logan said, smirking in amusement. "Bathing together, for example."

"You mean besides Christmas '93?" Lydia asked. Logan's eyes burst wide. "And my tenth birthday."

"I'd been repressing that," Logan gasped, looking horrified. Lydia laughed.

"I've been searching for the pictures," she grinned mischievously.

"I will be buying those off you for a very high price," Logan chuckled. "Do you still accept Mallomars and nail-polish as currency?"

"Throw in some _Louboutins_, _Van Cleef & Arpels_, a _Kelly_ bag, the weight of Rory's private library in bouillon and George Clooney with the _Nespresso_ machine he advertises, you've got a deal," Lydia said, smirking playfully.

"Here I was hoping a bag of _Sour Patch_ Watermelons could placate you," Logan smiled.

"Well, I'm all grown-up now," Lydia chuckled at the irony. "Couple packs of _Bazooka_ and a bottle of _Bombay Sapphire_, now that's a different story…"

"You know, the last bag of _Sour Patch_ candy your mom slipped me lasted a year," Logan grinned softly.

"Ew!" Lydia grimaced. She eyed pink-cheeked Rory. "I hope you're not being gross to my sister."

"Your…" Logan glanced at Rory; in an identical movement, Colin and Finn turned to stare at Rory too.

"My twin-sister," Lydia said, smiling at her sister. "You might not remember her; she was quiet like a mouse, sat in the corner reading _Nabokov_ and _Tolstoy_. This is Logan Huntzburger."

"Your sister doesn't like me," Logan whispered conspiratorially.

"You _were_ being gross to her," Lydia scowled, approaching Logan with her hammer raised.

"Put that hammer down!" Logan laughed. "We were not being gross to her."

"Hey, why don't you come in?" Lydia asked.

"_Lydi_, I need you," Finn pouted, eyes widening.

"Oh. She's upstairs. Room G03. Pay close attention to the numbers on her white-erase board," Lydia said, and Finn dashed off. Rory's eyes widened as she approached Lydia.

"Is that who I think it is? Her boyfriend's just gone up," she whispered, glancing at the top of the stairs, where Finn had just disappeared.

"Oh dear," Colin grinned.

"Tonic-water, Colin?" Lydia asked, indicating the door. "Maybe a little _Ouzo_?"

"No, no Ouzo, no Ouzo," Colin moaned, going a little ashen. Lydia led the boys into their shared suite; Paris had, luckily, barricaded herself up in her room, listening to what sounded like Strauss, leaving the common-room empty.

"Nice room," Logan remarked. "Emily pick the furniture out?"

"Is it that obvious?" Lydia asked drily, chuckling.

"My sister had similar when she was here," Logan smiled. "The girls in the DAR all get their furniture in the same place."

"You didn't mention Honour was a Yale grad," Lydia said, straightening up as she pulled the selection of soda-cans from the refrigerator.

"Yeah, a few years ago," Logan said.

"So, what did you do or say that was so terrible you got _Bambi_ to dislike you?" Lydia asked Logan, as she handed Colin the _Redbull_ he had indicated for as he examined the numerous glossy reproduction art-prints _Blu Tac_ked to the walls—Hugo Simberg, Marilyn Minter, Samantha Hahn, Gustav Klimt, Botticelli, Edmund Dulac, Vincent van Gogh, Velazquez, Herbert James Draper, all postcards and prints collected by Lydia on both her 'Grand Tour' with Grandma and her post-graduation backpacking trip with Lorelai. Rory frowned at her; Lydia shrugged.

"I would sincerely like to know myself," Logan smiled charmingly at Rory.

"We met yesterday," Rory sighed impatiently, arms crossed over her chest defensively. "With Marty."

"Marty?" Logan frowned, as Colin gave Rory a slight eye-roll.

"Marty, my friend Marty, he bartended for you—"

"Yes!" Logan exclaimed. "Marty, I'm sorry, it slipped my mind, of course I met you yesterday with Marty, nice to see you again…?" Guiltily, Logan chanced a half-glance at Lydia for introductions; Lydia sipped her soda, smiling over at Logan.

"Rory!" Rory blurted, annoyed.

"Nice to see you again, Rory, you're looking well," Logan smiled, as he accepted a _Diet Coke_ from Lydia. "Angry works for you."

"I'm not angry. I'm just irritated," Rory frowned.

"By me?"

"Yes."

"Because I forgot for a moment who you were?" Logan asked.

"No, because you speak to people as if they're below you," Rory retorted.

"People?"

"Marty!"

"Ah, your friend Marty," Logan nodded.

"Yes, my friend Marty, you talked to him as if he was dirt, and that's why I'm looking at you like this," Rory fumed; Lydia indicated for Colin to take a seat, as she snapped open a soda and grabbed a bag of marshmallows.

"I'm sorry, what'd I say that was so bad, I said hello, and I think I said he made a kick-ass margarita," Logan said, wide-eyed.

"It's not what you said, it's how you said it," Rory said tersely.

"And how'd I say it?"

"Like Judi Dench," Rory snapped.

"Ouch," Logan grimaced. Lydia offered Colin the bag of marshmallows, frowning at Logan.

"You were mean to Marty?" she asked.

"I was not mean to Marty!"

"Just because somebody doesn't have money or a fancy family doesn't mean they're inferior to you," Rory blurted angrily.

"I agree," Logan said, eyes widening earnestly.

"And just because somebody is a bartender at a party for you and your friends, it doesn't mean that you can talk to them like a servant," Rory declared, cheeks warm with anger and irritation.

"Well…" Logan started, and Lydia raised her eyebrows at the boy as Rory turned on him.

"_What_?" she blurted indignantly.

"I hired him, I paid him, he served; that's what a servant does!" Logan protested.

"Are you serious?"

"For the sake of argument," Logan said.

"He was doing a _job_!"

"A job he took willingly."

"Some people have to work," Rory scowled.

"And I'll bet if you asked him, he made excellent tips that night, 'cause my friends, they enjoy the refills," Logan said, indicating Colin, who raised his soda in acknowledgement as he flipped through the back blurb on Professor Fleming's last novel.

"Not the point," Rory scowled.

"To a bartender, tips are very much the point," Logan argued earnestly.

"Just because you pay somebody, it doesn't mean that you can speak to them as if they're beneath you," Rory scowled.

"Actually, the fact that this is a free country means that I can speak to anyone in any manner which I choose, however, the rules of a civilised society may frown upon a certain obvious show of snobbery, so if that's your argument—"

"I do not have an argument!" Watching Rory and Logan banter was like watching a tennis-match, only a hundred-times more entertaining, and Lydia was thrown back to sophomore year at Chilton, watching her sister get flustered and irritated by a certain privileged, handsome blonde boy with a pretty smile and an answer for everything.

"Well, I can give you a moment to formulate one if you want to continue," Logan said genially.

"I'm busy!"

"You concede." Rory sighed, scowling at Logan.

"I don't like it when people hurt my friends," she said coolly.

"And you react when goaded," Logan noted.

"I am not goaded. I'm so far from goaded, get out your compass and I will show you how far from goaded I am."

"I think we've got a serious debater in our midst," Logan said, glancing at Colin with a grin.

"It's a Gilmore girl family-trait," Lydia spoke up, offering a tub of _Redvines_ to Colin. "Watching you two in this pre-coital battle of wits is almost as fun as spaghetti-and-meatball night at Grandma's!"

"Lydia!" Rory scowled, annoyed, as Colin laughed. A tanned blur whirled into the common-room, slamming the door, and Finn panted as he grimaced, bracing himself against the door. "Uh…what're you doing?"

Panting, Finn glanced at Lydia. "You didn't mention her boyfriend was up there." Lydia grimaced.

"Oopsie," she winced.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because I'm…mischievous?" Lydia said, flashing Finn a very charming grin. "What happened to your eye?"

"Nothing; just some big scary angry athletic-type put his fist in it," Finn grimaced, trying to open his eye wide, wincing in pain. "Thank you for the warning, love."

"I didn't know her boyfriend would be there!"

"But you knew she had a boyfriend."

"They have an open relationship. He just doesn't know it," Lydia said, loping over to the little refrigerator, tugging the door open and opening the tiny freezer door. Pulling out a mini bag of frozen peas that had never been opened, she handed it to Finn. "Put that on your eye, it'll stop inflammation. So, what were the numbers?"

"Numbers?"

"On her whiteboard," Lydia said, offering Finn a soda.

"Uh…a hundred and nine," Finn said, leaning his head back so he could open his soda with both hands without taking the iced peas off his eye.

"She's been busy this summer," Rory said thoughtfully, eyebrows raised.

"The other number?" Lydia asked curiously, watching Finn.

"Nine-point-eight," Finn said.

"_Wow_," Lydia gaped, eyeing Finn up with renewed interest. Great jaw, an even tan to his rich olive skin-tone, crazy shirt open at the neck, richly-tanned collar-bones made to nibble, broad shoulders, he was _tall_ and had pretty lips. Cadeon Woede, she wouldn't have believed him, but looks were often deceiving; she would know.

"No wonder her boyfriend clocked you," Rory said softly, smirking as she picked apart a large marshmallow.

"I feel like the answer to this question is going to be glaringly obvious, but what's the significance of that number?" Logan asked, glancing from Rory to Lydia.

"Sexual-performance rating out of ten," Lydia said, glancing from Logan to Finn, who stood up a little taller, his broad shoulders thrown back proudly. "She rarely scores higher than an eight-point-two. You wouldn't have thought it to look at you." Laughing as Finn balked at her indignantly, she placed a hand on Finn's shoulder and squeezed, grinning. "Wear that black eye with pride."

Paris' bedroom-door burst open, Paris appearing in a cloud of acrid pipe-smoke, glaring. "You can't be here."

"I'm sorry?" Lydia blurted, eyebrows raised.

"I need to prepare," Paris declared tightly. "I have to get the vacuum through here, and since you can't be trusted with any form of domesticity, I have to do it myself."

"What do you mean, 'I can't be trusted with any form of domesticity'?" Lydia frowned.

"You killed a _Dyson_, Lydia," Paris said staunchly, glaring over her shoulder as she pulled the _new_ Dyson out of the little cubby-area opposite the refrigerator.

"I did not _kill_ a _Dyson_," Lydia said defensively, her cheeks warming, because she knew she had.

"You tried to vacuum and half the _Dyson_ ended up on the other side of the common-room while you were still holding onto the handle," Rory spoke up, and Lydia turned to gape at her: they had a deal; they would always take each other's side in an argument with Paris. Strength (and safety) in numbers.

"It was old and defective," she protested.

"It was brand-new! You can't be trusted with any domestic chores, Lydia," Rory said reasonably.

"I can so!"

"Okay, setting the _Dyson_ episode aside, what about the shower-door at home? You reached for the curtains to wash them after the food-fight on our fourteenth-birthday, somehow you slipped and flew across the room; the shower-door was completely demolished," Rory said, eyes wide.

"_I_ was the victim!"

"Uh-huh. What about the mop?"

"It gave me a splinter."

"So you brutalised it in the cheese-fondue incident of '02?"

"Oh, like you've never been suckered by a big shaft of wood," Lydia retorted, delighting in how rapidly Rory's cheeks flushed crimson, and the boys laughed.

"Hey!" Rory reached out, whacking Lydia on the arm. Rory was still touchy about the whole she-lost-her-virginity-to-her-married-ex-boyfriend scenario, and they hadn't talked about it all summer, let alone let Lydia tease about it.

"Ow!" Logan jumped in between them, grinning and laughing.

"Okay, you're giving me disturbing flashbacks to Honour teaching you how to play gin," he chuckled.

"Nobody specified that card-games are non-contact sports," Lydia said, giving him a look.

"Yeah, I still have the scar on my finger where you bit me during that game of Spoons," Logan chuckled softly.

"Logan, you've been spooning without me?" Finn gasped softly, wide-eyed and oddly reminding Lydia of _Bambi_.

"Poor boy, and on the same day he took a punch," Lydia sighed, shaking her head. Glancing at Logan, she said, "If you want, you can borrow my room to make him feel better."

"Leave Logan out of it, _you_ can cheer me up, love!" Finn grinned happily. "Apparently, I score highly on the sexual-performance scale." Catching Paris' perplexed expression, Lydia said, "Kit gave him a nine-point-eight."

"Wow."

"Yeah."

"I will take up your offer to go into your room, Lydia," Logan smirked playfully. Glancing at Paris, he said, "It was nice to meet you…?"

"Paris."

"It was nice to meet you, Paris, we'll get out of your hair," Logan said charmingly. "Rory, I promise to recognise you instantly next time…" Lydia, picking up the Redvines and marshmallows, shot Rory the evil-eye as she loped over to her bedroom-door, opening it for Colin and Finn to slip inside. Pausing at the door, Logan smiled at Rory. "Master and Commander."

"The movie?" Rory asked, bemused.

"No, that's what I want you to call me from now on," Logan smirked. As Finn threw himself down onto Lydia's freshly-made bed, adjusting the large throw-pillow for his comfort while the large, open window bathed him in rich mid-afternoon sunlight, Lydia dumped the _Redvines_ and marshmallows on the already-cluttered desk and glanced back at Logan.

"Seriously, stop flirting with my sister; it's like watching _Animal_ _Planet_, just with coffee and _J_ _Crew_," she smirked.

"Thanks for the visual," Colin frowned.

"You're welcome—Rory, have you seen my costumes?" Lydia asked, darting to the door before Logan could close it.

"Which ones?" Rory called, over the noise of Paris shoving the _Dyson_ into the hardwood.

"Candy-striper, French maid, gorilla mask?"

"Um, no."

"Can you look for them?"

"Is it really imperative that you find your gorilla mask right this second?" Rory shrieked.

"Yes." Grumpy, pink-cheeked, Rory stomped into her room, two seconds later re-emerging, arms laden with _stuff_, something black and furry, something pink-striped, one thing black, lacy, fully lined with numerous frilly petticoats.

"There!" Rory said tersely, tossing each piece at Lydia to avoid having to step foot in Lydia's room. The gorilla-mask hit Lydia on the head, knocking her hard-hat off.

"Ow! Good thing I was wearing that hard-hat," Lydia pouted, closing the door on Rory as her sister marched over to her room, still flushed and irritated.

"Nice room," Logan said, glancing around; Lydia was a glut for creature-comforts, and the second she had claimed this room, she had made it her own, setting everything out as she liked it, working everything into the little room; lining the university-issue corkboard with pretty wrapping-paper and funky pushpins, decorating it with photographs, buttons, stickers and postcards, matchbooks and comic-strips amid her seventeen-month calendar, her class schedule for this semester, a couple of necklaces dangling from the glass pushpins: a soft, pretty rug on the floor; her new apple-green bistro chair; a 'spine' bookcase to save on space; a dress-form in the corner for her 'couture' projects, with her pink plastic trunk, her costume-filled suitcase and a vintage train case piled aesthetically in the corner beside it; and a yellow chevron-padded cube stool that acted as a storage-bin big enough to house her vinyl records, and a coffee-table with the addition of a small, cheetah-print tray (the stool custom-made by Luke, upholstered by Lorelai for a fifteenth-birthday present, the better to pretty-up her and Rory's room while providing extra storage space); a three-tier wheeled work-station currently laden down with books, large 50-slot black DVD cases, a vintage-style recycled-card suitcase full of makeup and nail-polish bottles, her record-player and her collection of scented candles and an unopened bag of plain white tea-lights. _Ambience_, Lorelai called them; Paris referred to them as irresponsible fire-hazards. Lydia lit as many of them as she could get away with, daring Paris to storm in and do something about them.

She removed the cheetah-print tray from the chevron cube stool, offering it to Colin, as Logan unfolded the bistro chair and sat down; as Finn's uncovered eye slid closed, squirming on the bed slightly in a subtle gesture of comfort, Lydia hit 'play' on her stereo and _Sparks_ started playing, turning the beautiful 'Soren' chair Grandma had given her for her desk around so she could chat, Lydia sat.

"Thanks," Lydia smiled.

"When'd you move in?" Colin asked.

"Yesterday," Lydia shrugged, and Colin raised an eyebrow. "Paris likes to get everything perfectly in place before classes start, or she says it interferes with her ability to study. And I am too much of a comfort-creature to live with boxes unpacked."

"What's all this?" Colin asked, indicating Lydia's three very large photo and memento collages leaning neatly against the radiator under the window.

"Just…memories, from last year, this summer," Lydia said, shrugging, sipping her soda, knowing that the collage at the front was full of photographs of members of the Life and Death Brigade, alongside pictures from normal parties, club socials, hanging out with Lorelai and Rory in Stars Hollow, memories from birthdays and special-events past.

"Ah, _In Omnia Paratus_," Colin grinned, squatting down to examine a few of the photographs with noticeably more expensive décor and costume themes. Lydia smiled, lifting up her gorilla-mask, as Colin lifted the collage to look closely at some of the pictures; Logan stood to look over his shoulder. Finn was dozing on Lydia's bed, seemingly perfectly comfortable to sleep on a stranger's bed.

"Hey, these photos look great," Logan said, smiling.

"You missed out," Lydia remarked, and she was sure he had, to an extent; the memories of those parties were forever imprinted into her mind, but Logan had missed them, while he was no doubt enjoying exotic women in foreign nightclubs.

"Looks like," Logan smiled charmingly at her. "What were the themes?"

"_Gatsby_—Jordan on the golf-course, not Gatsby's parties; _Gosford Park_ murder-mystery; Hitchcock—_Suspicion_, the white absinthe; _Alice_, of course, always a classic. Burton, not _Disney_, though there was some discrepancy over the _five_ Hatters who showed up. _Da Vinci Code_—like my cryptex?" Lydia smiled as she picked up her polished wooden Cryptex from her box of trinkets she had yet to set out. "And _Robin Hood_. I was afraid Robert would get inspired by the _Hunger Games_ and cull the herd, especially after the first bottle of bourbon and an argument with Seth over the catapult." She grimaced at Logan and Colin, but she smiled as she remembered sitting in the catapult with Robert, unafraid to be the first two shot through the air over hay-bales with nothing but a trampoline and a few mats to break their fall.

"Well, it's nice to know we weren't missed in our absence," Colin remarked.

"If it makes you feel better, I could lie and say the rest of the Brigade had to resort to copious amounts of alcohol to cope with your sabbatical," Lydia smiled. "But now, the prodigal sons have returned."

"And we will resume our duties as chief revellers!" Colin declared, jutting his chin up.

"I'm very glad to hear it," Lydia smiled.

"I thought there was a moratorium on photography at Life and Death functions," Colin said, indicating several photographs of Lydia in a very beautiful vintage, embroidered French flapper dress, t-bar heels and a straw cloche hat decorated with a teal ribbon and a large dusty rose, sipping champagne out of a champagne-saucer on a golf-course, a putter over her shoulder as she and Juliet sauntered toward the camera.

"Ah, see, these are merely photos of themed parties at which copious amounts of alcohol and food is consumed," Lydia grinned. "There is no _In Omnia Paratus_ sign, no crest, and no sign of any gorilla masks that could be linked, by a government criminal-psychoanalyst looking into the life and crimes of Yale students, to the Life and Death Brigade."

"Loopholes," Logan beamed.

"Gotta love 'em," Lydia grinned. "And I would like to look back in twenty years and…at least _try_ to remember how much fun I had while I was taking these pictures." Colin laughed, and Finn started, blinking around the room, bemused.

"No photos of your grandmother to commemorate your summer?" Logan asked, peering down at the other two collages.

"'The image of an angel is an angel'," Lydia said drily, shuddering. The Weeping Angels episodes of _Doctor_ _Who_ had traumatised her for three weeks.

"Careful not to blink," Finn spoke up, and Lydia raised her eyebrows at him, surprised that he got the _Doctor Who_ reference. "I wouldn't mind being sent back in time to Venice. Helen McRory." He growled softly, grinning.

"You got your Sonic Screwdriver with you?" Lydia asked coyly, glancing pointedly to his jeans.

"I can't believe you got Rosemarie and Juliet to watch _Doctor Who_," Finn said, winking.

"Well, I'm a woman of many talents," Lydia yawned, tired and warm from the open window and the hundred-degree heat.

"So we've noticed," Colin grinned. She smiled, glancing at Finn.

"How's your eye?" she asked, as he fiddled with the pack of frozen peas.

"Oh, it's not too bad. Only hurts when I look at things," Finn smiled. "D'you happen to have any _beverages_ in here, love?"

"Mm… Check the train case," Lydia told Colin, who was nearest that corner of the room with the dress-form and the pile of decorative luggage. "I'm not sure what's in there." She flung her door open, glad the vacuuming had stopped. "_RORY_! Where's my 'My Other Mug is a Shot Glass' mug?"

"It's in the crate with your nail-polishes and chevron blanket!" Rory shouted back, and Lydia closed the door, frowned, and launched herself onto the floor on her stomach, reaching under her bed for the translucent-white collapsible plastic crate, in which, yes, there were several blankets, two cardboard boxes and a tub of nail-polish bottles, and no less than four mugs wrapped up in empty pillowcases.

"Oh, my absinthe glasses!" she sighed delightedly, smiling as she opened the larger box to check its contents, the four matching absinthe glasses and delicate spoons glinting in the sunlight.

"_Wild_ _Turkey_," Colin said, and Lydia glanced up to see Colin going through the contents of her train case, which had been upcycled into an easily-transportable mini-bar. Inside it, small bottles of _Southern Comfort_, _Snow Queen_ vodka, _Disaronno_, _Bacardi _rum, _Wild Turkey_ and _Bombay Sapphire_ gin were neatly arranged alongside four sleek tumblers. She had no ice-bucket, but the train case was as perfect a little at-home mini-bar as she could make in her dorm-room. Colin smiled at her, opening the _Wild Turkey_ bottle. "Excellent choice."

"I got a taste for it at poker nights," Lydia smiled, but she frowned as she looked through the contents of the train case, plucking out the pretty blue bottle. "Damn, I'm out of _Bombay Sapphire_; you should all be making a note of that, by the way."

"Oh, really?" Logan smiled.

"Just a little hint, you know, you might jot it down on a _Post It_, make sure you remember it for Draft Week," Lydia said, shooting them all a smile.

"Okay, what's Draft Week?" Colin asked. "I find it difficult to believe Rosemarie or Juliet would have anything to do with football."

"Juliet and Rosemarie haven't tracked you down yet?"

"Apparently not," Logan smiled, as Colin handed Finn a tumbler with a generous slosh of amber-coloured liquid.

"You missed the first two bi-annual Brigade Draft ceremonies; we instigated it last fall," Lydia sighed. "Bitzi Grossman, Helena Charles, iced vodka, a pool and a catfight."

"Even Amsterdam coffee-bars can't compete with that!" Logan grinned.

"So we decided that, to prevent any such situation occurring again, we should instigate the Draft," Lydia smiled, accepting a tumbler from Colin. "I would say more, but it would ruin the full effect of the announcement at the initiation party. I hope you've been recruiting heavily, we need some fresh blood."

"It can get a little incestuous at those parties," Colin agreed.

"Well I am shocked and horrified that while we were gallivanting all over Europe, here you were partying with the Brigade," Finn said, propping himself up against Lydia's pillows. "If our little sojourn in Santorini is anything to go by, you're a refreshing addition to our time-honoured institution."

"I shall take that as a compliment," Lydia beamed.

"It was intended as one," Finn winked.

"I'm just a little miffed that you weren't here last year," Lydia said, smiling at Logan. "We could have met quite a bit sooner."

"Very true," Logan smiled. "We'll have to catch up properly sometime. You got any evenings in that little black book of yours that haven't been taken up by Robert?"

"Maybe," Lydia smiled. "You'll be happy to know I'm out of my macaroni-cheese phase. Mostly."

"I _am_ very glad to hear that," Logan grinned. "What brought that about?"

"Well, my backpacking trip through Europe with Rory and Lorelai after graduation, that exposed me to quite a few new experiences," Lydia said, and Logan chuckled. "And this summer, again, I was making my way around Europe, except this time we had an _AmEx_ Black card. Amazing what culinary oddities are made available to you when you've got Gilmore money."

"Richard and Emily don't do anything halfway, I'll give them that," Logan smiled charmingly. Lydia made a noncommittal noise, then laughed softly, shaking her head. She said softly, "I can't believe you sank your father's yacht."

"Well, it did take us quite a few tries," Colin said, and Lydia laughed.

"Tell me," she smiled, and the boys were off, regaling her with their misadventures onboard the _Andromeda_. They went through the last of the bottle of _Wild Turkey_—Finn promising to replenish Lydia's bar after hearing she was still the tender age of nineteen—changed CDs numerous times, while they talked about their adventures and Lydia told them all of the gossip from Brigade parties-past.

"Can I ask you something?" Logan asked, setting his tumbler down on Lydia's cluttered desk. Lydia glanced at him, amused by his suddenly rather thoughtful expression. "Is Rory…?"

"Single?" Lydia asked, and Finn and Colin chuckled. Logan gave her a look, smiling. He picked up the gorilla mask.

"Ah, is Rory _in omnia paratus_?" Lydia chuckled, understanding where he was going with his inquiry. While they were both Gilmores, both heiresses with fat trust-funds (thanks to their great-grandmother, Lorelai the First) and both attending the prestigious Ivy League school, Rory was a good girl, a church-mouse. She was a _good girl_. Lydia was the adventurous, extroverted, enigmatic one who took chances, had _fun_. So she had been tapped; people were surprised she had a sister, because they never saw her. "No. Rory is…a Mary." It was the easiest and most succinct way she could describe her twin-sister.

"Haven't heard that in a while," Colin smiled.

"Private-school insults. You never forget them," Lydia chuckled softly, sipping her _Wild_ _Turkey_.

"Were you a Mary?" Finn asked, grinning as he eyed her up.

"_I…_was incorrectly labelled a Mary-Magdalene by someone who knew no better," Lydia said, and Finn gave her a thoughtful, considering smile that made his eyes twinkle. The bedroom-door burst open, and Logan jumped; Colin sputtered on a sip of _Wild Turkey_, making Finn clap him on the back. "_Paris_!"

"Candles," Paris demanded, glaring at Lydia.

"Lighter-fluid!" Lydia chirped brightly in response.

"Lydia." The fires of Mordor crackled in Paris' dark eyes.

"Are we not playing Categories?" Lydia asked, blinking innocently.

"I need candles," Paris enunciated.

"Oh, you would like for me to _give you_ some candles," Lydia sighed, snapping her fingers. "Jeez, Paris, why didn't you just ask?" She grabbed the bag of tea-lights from her wheeled work-station, glancing around for a knife or blade, and, finding her fabric scissors, cut the bag open, stood, and upturned the bag over Paris' hands; several candles escaped on the floor, but Paris caught about a dozen. "Are we making s'mores?" Lydia asked brightly.

"How did you even get into Yale?" Paris snapped, eyes narrowing.

"I smiled," Lydia said, eyes widening earnestly.

"One afternoon of you and I'm already irritated as hell!" Paris growled, whipping away; Lydia closed the door and reclaimed her drink from Finn, with a tight, slightly saddened smile. He gave her a thoughtful, inquisitive look, and Lydia's smile became a little lighter.

"She thinks I'm a waste of space because I did so much _theatre_ in high-school," she said softly, sighing, as she sat down, draping her ankle over her knee and glancing at the door. If she had been alone after that tiny brush with Paris, she would have succumbed to introspection. Because she knew she wasn't as driven or motivated as either Paris _or_ Rory, and she had always had to contend with that fact.

"Is that your major?" Colin asked.

"God, no!" Lydia laughed, smiling. She sipped her drink, licking her lips thoughtfully, and sighed softly. "No, I'm thinking of majoring in History. Rory's majoring in English. Paris is pre-med and pre-law and pre-communist dictator."

"She seems intense," Logan said, glancing at Lydia, who had snorted delicately.

"That is putting it mildly," she sighed, rubbing her forehead. Living with Paris was exhausting, like…the Gulag. It made two months' vacationing with Emily Gilmore look like a relaxing spa retreat by comparison, and that said something.

"I can understand why you spend a lot of time on Juliet and Rosemarie's couch," Colin said, examining a selection of Lydia's CDs. Lydia shrugged delicately.

"When they go for spa weekends, they let me study at their place," she said, sighing. People didn't expect it from her, but she actually did spend quite a stunning amount of time studying. Thanks to her Lorelai-given addiction to coffee, trained by Chilton to live off four hours' sleep daily, coming to Yale had been the next, more intense step in that training-course, a course of study she was sure was far more difficult than any actual future job she would take on, but the difficulty and variety of subjects made things _interesting_, and the challenge and the level of interest she had in each of the classes she chose added to her enjoyment of them. Rory was the dedicated bookworm, yes, but Lydia was also a very serious student too. She just…didn't get as much attention for her brains as Rory did. Or any, really. As Paris had exhibited, people were stunned to hear that Lydia had been accepted to _Yale_ University.

Appearances were deceiving.

She sighed, as her phone buzzed with a call. Smiling at the caller-I.D., she picked up the call, agreeing to meet her friends from her Fifteenth Century Literature class at the Cupcakes and Ice-Cream Social.

"We'll walk you over," Colin said, setting aside his empty tumbler.

"Yeah, we've got…" Logan frowned, glancing at his watch. "We've got to meet some people for pre-dinner drinks."

"You're welcome to join us for dinner, love," Finn said, and Lydia smiled. "Looks a bit…_funereal_ out there." He pointed to Lydia's bedroom-door, which they had glimpsed to have been shuttered and shaded, tea-lights glimmering a soft amber.

"Well, thank you for the invitation," Lydia smiled earnestly; she did like spending time with these boys, no matter how little or much alcohol was involved. They were by turns eccentric, charming, jubilant, breathtakingly adventurous, sly and playful, and her time with them in the Mediterranean had been the highlight of her summer. She had been sworn to secrecy, of course, but…_cuddling_ with Finn had been one of her favourite moments with them, lying on the deck of the _Andromeda_ close to sunset, hot bare skin gentle against hot skin under a soft blanket, smelling of brine, bourbon and honey, just dozing, peaceful, timeless. She had liked that moment as much as she had enjoyed laughing and playing with Finn in the water, skinny-dipping, kissing.

She had forgotten that, taking a sabbatical from Yale, they might at some point return, that she would see them again. But she was glad that she had, that they did come back before her time at Yale was over. Boys who loved their toys and had daddy's unlimited credit-cards could spend the better part of their lives getting their college degrees.

"Yeah, you're more than welcome. It'll be just us, the girls," Logan smiled. "Maybe if we get you girls liquored up, you can fill us in a little more on this whole Draft thing."

"And ruin the surprise?" Lydia smiled. "I'll see; text me the time and the address; if I'm not there on time, assume I'm running late and won't make it, don't wait for me."

"Very good," Logan smiled. A few short goodbyes filled with promise were exchanged, Finn lingering in a hug until Lydia pinched him playfully and stole his pack of frozen peas, and watching Logan trying to wrangle Colin and Finn out of the suite made her laugh, and, watching the way Logan had to bodily remove Colin from the common-room, she stood at the front-door with a hand over her mouth, giggling at a sudden memory.

"Oh my god," she blurted, trying to stem the flow of giggles. Finn draped himself over Colin, giving the illusion that they were the same height, and Lydia grinned at Colin as she laughed. "I just remembered…Colin, making out with that old lady!"

"I completely forgot about that!" Logan crowed, eyes widening with delighted incredulity.

"I did not make out with—" Colin flushed, embarrassed, as Lydia clung to the doorframe and Finn threw his head back and laughed. Protesting futilely, Colin remained flushed in the face, giving them an unwilling smile.

"Colin, I thought she was going to detach her jaw and swallow you whole!" Finn laughed. Laughing to herself, she could hear the boys' laughter echoing in the courtyard as she returned to her room. Plucking out a very floaty, very pretty embellished chiffon handkerchief skirt, a thin cotton camisole, a pair of strappy heels and a cropped denim jacket, Lydia changed, her outfit a perfect transition between late-afternoon and eveningwear, and she plucked up her favourite purse, put her essentials in it, and made her way out to the Cupcakes and Ice-Cream Social.

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**A.N.**: Please REVIEW!


	3. Chapter 3

**A.N.**: I know it's been a while since I updated this story. I've been working on other things. Please don't just 'Follow' this story; I'd love to hear your thoughts on Lydia, the boys, the change in dynamics with Lydia in the story, how she affects Rory and Lorelai's relationship, etc. I welcome plot-suggestions, too.

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**The Lorelai Paradox**

_03_

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As much as the first week back at school was about settling in and discovering which classes she had been assigned to that she wanted, and starting on the unconquerable pile of reading that was expected for each class, for Lydia, the first week back at Yale was also about catching up with her friends.

Enrolment week was always hectic, but her entire life had been building up a training regime to prepare her for this; the only thing that dampened her memories of the first week of her sophomore year was Paris' insistence in mourning Professor Fleming. Their first night of freshman-year, a phrase had been coined in honour of Lorelai, and last year everyone in their building had remembered Lydia and Rory for having an incredibly cool mom. This year, their suite had been opened up for a wake, her grandmother had apparently stopped by, terrorising the entire party, Rory had snuck back to Stars Hollow, leaving Lydia alone to deal with Paris when she had stumbled back from Korean barbecue and drinks with Juliet, Rosemarie and the boys.

Loaded up as she was with every class she had thought absolutely intriguing, the first week was a beautiful balance of parties and incredibly engaging lectures that, strangely enough, had her itching to do _research_. The same flu-like bug had bitten her last year, too, the first time in her entire academic career that she had been so enthralled by her classes that she wanted to study without it having to be for the good of her GPA. Nobody had told her that attending Yale would give her an enjoyment of _learning_.

She hadn't spent much time in the Hollow since…well, since Christmas; and the summer had been devoted to Emily Gilmore slowly but surely sapping away her will to live. But being back at Yale felt like a return to norm; she had a schedule, she had her social life back, which all combined to make her very happy. She was busy, _happy_; she felt like she had a purpose when she fulfilled her reading quotas for the day, excited by future dates and parties as much as she was excited to sit in her 'Cities, Art & Protest' module, her fifteenth-century literature lectures; the enthralling 'Harlots, Housewives and Heroines: Reformation Women, 17th Century Feminists' module and the first instalment of her six-week Art History class.

"He was _not_ flirting with me." Lydia glanced up from her dinner, eyebrows raised inquisitively.

"Who?"

"Logan."

"Ah, Logan," Lydia smiled. "Yes, he was."

"He was _not_!" Rory flushed.

"Rory, you're love-dense," Paris sighed. "He loved getting you riled."

"Everyone knows irritating someone to get a rise out of them, especially when the person doing the irritating is Logan and the girl being irritated has your eyes, it's flirting," Lydia said.

"He was a jerk to Marty."

"So we hear."

"How do you even know him, anyway?" Rory frowned.

"You know him, too," Lydia said, glancing across the table at her sister. "He used to go to Grandma's Christmas parties when we were little. Or, was dragged to Grandma's Christmas parties, is a more accurate description. His father's Mitchum Huntzburger."

"Mitchum _Huntzburger_—the newspaper guy?" Rory blurted, her eyes popping, and Paris turned to stare at Lydia.

"Yeah, he owns at least a dozen newspapers," Lydia nodded. "Lucky boy, Logan gets to inherit the entire enterprise." She shook her head; part of Logan's sabbatical and his disinterest in graduating college lay in his fear and hatred of having to accept the mantle of heir to the Huntzburger newspaper empire.

"Mitchum Huntzburger was shortlisted for a Pulitzer at twenty-five," Paris said, sipping her water. "Impressive guy."

"I remember him as kind of a jerk," Lydia said, frowning as she took a few bites of her garlic-bread.

"You think all Grandma and Grandpa's friends are jerks," Rory sighed. Lydia shrugged.

"They usually are," Lydia remarked. "Floyd Stiles, Straub Hayden—"

"Isn't that your grandfather?"

"Technically speaking," Lydia nodded.

"The one you walloped in the face?"

"I figured it was better I do it than Grandpa," Lydia sighed, sipping her soda. "Anyway, you should go for Logan, Rory."

"I should—"

"At the very least, don't attack him next time you see him," Lydia said, glancing at her twin. "He might be stopping by the _Yale Daily News_ now that he's back; he could be a good contact."

"I'd rather not have contacts like _Logan_."

"Paris, correct me if I'm mistaken, but most guys in the big positions in newspapers around the globe are kids like Logan," Lydia said, glancing at Paris. "Kids who went to schools like Chilton and have Ivy educations and have parents like Grandma and Grandpa?"

"Most," Paris agreed with a nod.

"At least Logan's cute," Lydia said, tucking in to her lasagne.

"He was condescending and rude and let his friends treat Marty like dirt," Rory frowned.

"He apologised," Lydia said fairly. "And he's cute."

"He's irritating."

"Blonde guy, cute, arrogant but charming, has a comeback for everything… Hey, Paris, does that description ring any bells?" Lydia asked, without looking at Paris.

"He's Tristan DuGrey mark two," Paris said, deadpan but succinct as ever.

"I wonder what he's up to," Lydia said thoughtfully; she hadn't heard anything about Tristan from any of the guys who had once been friends with him at Chilton, but she was sure he had probably ended up at an Ivy League like Colin, Logan and Finn, all of whom had a very long record of pulling practical-jokes, blowing off school to go snowboarding and spending the weekend drinking instead of doing homework.

"Logan is not Tristan, Second Edition," Rory sighed, looking irritable.

"I have some more reading to do before my early-morning lecture tomorrow," Paris said, getting up from her seat. "I'll see you back at ours?"

"We'll be back after dessert," Lydia said, and Paris smiled sadly and carried her plate away. Lydia was one of only two people in the entire world who could handle Paris Gellar with any equanimity, and it was good that both she and Rory lived with Paris, or she'd have a burial-plot right beside Professor Fleming's, filled by whatever roommate she had driven psychotic. Lydia glanced after Paris. She hadn't realised how much Paris had loved Professor Fleming; their relationship had been just too shudder-some for Lydia to consider without needing a shower in a hazmat room, but she didn't like seeing Paris so quiet and mournful.

"We need to help her get out there again," Lydia sighed softly. "Maybe she can meet someone her own age to take over the world with."

"Asher only just died," Rory said, frowning.

"He was sixty years old; they were together less than a year," Lydia said, giving Rory a look. She sighed. "Sooner or later, he was going to die, as are we all, but at least this way, Paris' whole life hasn't been railroaded by his death. She still has time. Speaking of…how's Dean?"

Rory glanced up. "How's that a 'speaking-of'?" Rory's phone, sitting on the table next to her plate, started to buzz.

"Dean?"

"Yeah," Rory said.

"That's just creepy," Lydia grimaced, glancing at her sister.

Everyone always thought Rory was the angel; Lydia was the playful, bubbly girl oozing with charisma, who got caught kissing boys and went to parties and consecutively won Miss Patty's talent contest every year. When people looked at Rory, they saw the porcelain-faced, doe-eyed angel who went to private school; when they looked at Lydia, they saw…well, probably someone they expected to sleep with another girl's husband.

But Lydia would _never_ sleep with someone's husband, and the only time she had ever kissed another girl's boyfriend had been Tristan, and the wires had been crossed so she hadn't known he'd been dating…whatever her name was.

She knew, even if Rory was in denial about it, that sleeping with Dean while he was married to Lindsay was wrong—and that Dean's divorce was a direct result of Rory sending that stupid, thoughtless letter to Dean.

Lydia had gotten her rebellions out of the way the last few years, and most of the time it had been directed at Grandma; she loved Lorelai too much to make her life difficult, because she knew very well that if Lorelai had chosen to be selfish, had she wanted this great Ivy education for herself and all the things that that could have given her, she and Rory wouldn't _exist_. Her rebellions had been tame in comparison to her mother's, but she had gotten them out of the way, had done the childish stuff while she was still a child, and could now sit across the table from Rory and know that what her sister was doing wasn't _right_.

She didn't want to agree with the hissing viper that turned out to be Theresa, but Rory had broken up a marriage; yes, Dean had made the gross error in sleeping with Rory, and leaving Rory's letter for his _wife_ to find, but Rory hadn't stopped him, and she should have known that was _very_ wrong. So Lydia sat, eating her dinner and watching Rory while she had a quiet conversation with Dean on her cell-phone. When Rory hung up, Lydia wiped her mouth on a napkin, sipping her soda.

"How's he doing?" she asked.

"Dean? He's okay," Rory said quietly. Lydia nodded.

"Has he even taken his stuff out of his wife's place yet?" she asked. Rory gave her a look. "Sorry, it's just…what do you expect me to think about the situation? You slept with someone's _husband_ and she found out…" Rory's face flushed shamefully, and she focused on her plate. "So you two are, what…back together?"

"Yes," Rory answered.

"I thought Dean was back at his parents' house."

"He is."

"And they're okay with this?" Lydia asked; she had seen Dean's mother shortly before she and Rory had made the trip to Yale. She hadn't been best pleased that Lydia was Rory's twin-sister—usually, nobody was—but she had been polite to Lydia, because Lydia had been polite to her. Mrs Forester had told her that Dean was moving back home until he could find a place of his own. "With…_you_?"

"I don't…I don't know, okay," Rory said, her cheeks still warm as she tucked her hair behind her ears. "So I guess I've got your opinion on the situation."

"You'd have Lorelai's too, if you'd ever talk to her about this," Lydia said, and Rory gave her a look. "I mean, this was a really big deal, Rory, we didn't talk about it all summer. I assume you two are going to…again."

"Lydia," Rory frowned, flushing.

"Well, I just…" Lydia shrugged. Everyone thought she, the flirtatious, extroverted twin, had the most experience out of her and Rory; but Rory had had two long-term relationships, whereas Lydia was the noncommittal girl who 'played the scene'. Lydia had started dating earlier than Rory, invited to parties and dates since she was fourteen, but everything about boys and dates and sex, she went to Lorelai for; Rory had never even contemplated having sex until late in her relationship with Jess, and even then, she hadn't really talked about it with Lydia, whom she had always been able to talk about such things with, because sometimes, Lorelai didn't handle it so well. The thought of her daughters having sex, potentially putting them in the same position as her when she was sixteen, tended to push Lorelai's panic-buttons, so sometimes it was easier to talk to each other about tender subjects. "Just, go see the campus doctor."

"For what?" Rory frowned.

"For _birth-control_," Lydia said, staring at her sister. Not that she needed it, but at eighteen she had gone to the doctor for the birth-control patch. It simplified a lot of things, and though Lorelai knew Lydia didn't need it, they had had a frank conversation about birth-control and sex, a conversation that Rory had conspicuously been absent for. If Rory needed telling to go and get birth-control, Lydia was a little worried a chapter had been skipped between her and Lorelai. Little Miss Responsible wasn't thinking about proper precautions.

"_Lydia_," Rory hissed, flushing red again, glancing around and giving her a glare.

"Well, I'm sorry, but I don't see you running to Lorelai for advice," Lydia said defensively, raising her palms, "and, hello, we wouldn't be here if Lorelai had been able to go to _her_ mom for the Talk."

"We are not having this conversation right here in the dining-hall," Rory flushed.

"Well, we traipsed all over Europe with Great Aunt March—"

"Harsh—"

"—and you pouted and sighed for two months, but not a word from your lips did slip," Lydia said remonstratively. She sighed, setting her knife and fork together on her empty plate, leaning forward, saying quietly, "We always used to be able to talk about stuff, you know. I mean, when you were thinking about it with Jess… Who'd have figured he'd be the more honourable of the two."

"Lydia, he—"

"You know that what you two did was wrong on a lot of levels," Lydia said sternly, glancing up at Rory, who worked her jaw but looked down at her plate shamefacedly. "You won't hear it from Lorelai, but I'm not gonna kowtow and pamper your feelings." There was no point candy-coating the situation; Rory had inadvertently broken up a marriage, hurt a lot of people, and was making the mistake of getting back together with a boy she had dumped before. There were few times when Lorelai had played the 'Mom'-card; Chilton being the last example when Rory wanted to stay at Stars Hollow High _for_ _Dean_, but Rory had never not listened before when Lorelai had pulled it out. This issue was the first time the two hadn't seen eye to eye, even though Rory had to know she was in the wrong. "So, what have you two figured out?"

"Us two who?"

"You and Dean. What've you talked about? And have you both thought things through, I mean, this can't be a good place Dean's in right now, everyone in the Hollow knows—_some_—of what's happened, and what's happening with Lindsay? And…"

"What?"

"Well, would Dean be with you if Lindsay hadn't kicked him out?" Lydia asked delicately.

"What do you mean?"

Lydia sighed heavily, rolling her eyes. "I _mean_, it's been painfully obvious he's been _pining_ for you since you dumped him, but would he have left Lindsay to be with you? Considering your history, it seems like a bit of a risk to me."

"A risk?"

"You two getting back together. You're not in the same place anymore," Lydia said, as they sat back down with their dessert—ice-cream with a warm brownie underneath and hot caramel sauce for Lydia.

"Stars Hollow isn't that far away," Rory said quietly.

"That's not what I'm talking about," Lydia said, glancing up at Rory. "Dean's…homeless. He's back in his parents' house, he's working three jobs with manic shifts, he dropped his college classes to work, and you're at _Yale_."

"So, what, I'm too good for him?" Rory scowled, insulted.

"Well, you're my sister, so you're too good for a lot of people, but that's not what I'm talking about," Lydia said lightly. "At the very least, you two both have to realise how difficult this is going to be."

"You know what, I don't even know why I'm listening to relationship advice from you," Rory scowled.

"You're not listening to relationship advice from me—"

"Good, because you've never been in a relationship."

"For the sake of argument, you know that's not true," Lydia said. She had tried a relationship once, when she had thought the guy was worth it, but in the end, he hadn't, and she had that experience under her belt to gauge the next potential relationship. "Haven't you learned anything from Lorelai's relationships—particularly with _Dad_?"

"What about Dad?" Rory frowned.

"They were high-school sweethearts, too. They still have feelings for each other, probably always will because of _us_, but even though they love each other and Lorelai will always be there for Dad whenever he needs us, they'll never get together because they're in two different places, everything going on in their lives, it just wouldn't work," Lydia said. She had thought long and hard about her parents' relationship, at different times in her life, and now she understood what Rory couldn't, that their parents would always have ties because of them, but they were so much older and had changed so much from the kids they had been, and had so much going on in their own lives, that getting together would only be a recipe for disaster. "And you think about this; you're at Yale so you can get the most out of life, take all the opportunities that come your way. Dean's working three blue-collar jobs; he's dropped out of college. And I know you; you'd think about Dean before you took a great opportunity that would help your career."

"That is not true," Rory protested.

"Sure," Lydia shrugged. "You wanted to stay at Stars Hollow High instead of going to Chilton when Dean showed up in town and started talking to you."

"That was different," Rory flushed.

"How?" Rory didn't seem able to come up with an answer that Lydia would right away be able to shoot down, and Lydia gave her a look that said a lot.

Two things could occur with Rory's new relationship with Dean: Either, and this was a long-shot, it would work out, Dean would go back to school part-time while he worked, eventually the scarlet letter would be removed from Rory's dress, she would graduate, go to work for a local newspaper so she could stay close to Dean, her priorities would shift from Christiane Amanpour to June Cleaver and she would settle down with Dean and a family. Or, and this was the far more likely scenario, in a few weeks, or months, they would figure out that they were in two different places, neither of which accommodated for the other's lifestyle; that Rory didn't have time for Dean with her college schedule; that Rory was too motivated and driven and had a life so full of possibilities that she would never settle for a small-town blue-collar guy.

Lydia had always liked Dean—had…been jealous of her sister for the great boy she was dating all through high-school, but the relationship between Rory and Dean should have ended when Dean dumped Rory, and she started dating Jess. The back-and-forth, the new drama, Lydia didn't like what Dean's thoughtless actions had done to her family. Because it wasn't just Rory who was affected by her decision to sleep with Dean; a huge blowout between Rory and Lorelai had occurred, and they had spent the next two months not speaking; they still didn't speak, not about the important things—Dean, sex—and Rory was giving Lorelai attitude and being snippy and nasty to Lydia whenever she had brought up the subject, because Lydia didn't want Rory to _not_ talk about it. It was a huge milestone in her life, and it had turned out to be a really _bad_ one. Catastrophically bad. Broken-marriages bad. But it was still a big deal, and like with the birth-control issue, it wasn't something that couldn't _not_ be talked about. Especially in their family.

Finishing her dessert, Lydia sighed. "Come on. We'd better get back to the dorm before Paris lights that pipe again. I mean, I love Bilbo and Aragorn more than the next gal, but if they lit their pipes around me, they'd get them shoved up their noses." With a strained smile, Rory traipsed after her back to their dorm.

As Lydia entered her bedroom, brushing her teeth to get rid of the garlic from dinner, the landline rang; kicking off her shoes, she darted to the phone, struggling to say, "Speak!"

"_Hiya, baby_," said a familiar voice.

"Hi!" Lydia chirped happily, grinning. "Brushing my teeth!"

"_Okay, I'll talk. So, d'you wanna hear all the hairy details of my first date with Luke, or shall I just skip to the part where I walked into the diner wearing only Luke's plaid shirt_?" Lorelai asked. Lydia walked back to the bathroom, laughing, before spitting out her toothpaste.

"You didn't?"

"_Apparently Luke's _can_ open without Luke being there_," Lorelai sighed.

"Well, if you were caught in _dishabille_ at Luke's, I take it the date went well," Lydia grinned, throwing herself down on her bed on her back, wriggling for a comfortable position.

"_It went _great," Lorelai hummed happily.

"Tell me, tell me!"

"_Okay, well, there was a slight mishap to begin with; we didn't specify where we were gonna meet; I'd just locked the front-door when Luke drives up in his truck_—"

"Well, it was your first date," Lydia said. "Of course he was gonna pick you up!"

"_Right, but I don't have much experience with guys picking me up at home_," Lorelai said, and Lydia nodded.

"So where'd he take you?"

"_Sniffy's Tavern_," Lorelai said happily. "_You will not believe it; Luke has a Luke's_."

"No!"

"_Yeah, he goes to this place two, three times a week; apparently the owners were friends with his parents since high-school_," Lorelai said. "_Apparently, I'm the first girl Luke's ever taken there_."

"Definitely very special," Lydia smiled. She had always liked Luke; at five, when she had run away from home, he had caught her, sat her outside at Weston's with a piece of cake and asked her about her troubles, long enough that Fran could call the Inn and have Mia come and get her.

"_So we're sitting in this booth Luke reserved, and Maisy and Buddy—they're the owners—go and get one of their waitresses to bring us over some champagne, and I asked Luke, you know, I couldn't remember the first time we met_," Lorelai said, and Lydia frowned.

"You can't?"

"_No. But, apparently, eight years ago, this drop-dead gorgeous, chatty brunette saunters into Luke's, very sweetly asking for a cup of coffee_," Lorelai said, and Lydia laughed.

"Yeah, 'sweetly'," she chuckled.

"_Well, anyway, apparently I was chatting and chatting, like you know I can, I was jonesing for caffeine, and Luke's was packed, so I kept bugging Luke for coffee, he turns around and say's, 'You're being annoying. Sit down, shut up, I'll get to you when I get to you_'."

"Well, I bet you took that very well," Lydia smirked.

"_I kept bugging him for his birthday, when he finally gave in and told me, I opened the newspaper, scribbled something underneath a horoscope, and handed it to him_," Lorelai said, and even by her tone, Lydia could tell her mother was trembling with delight and happiness.

"What'd it say?"

"_Under Scorpio, I'd written 'You will meet an annoying woman today. Give her coffee and she'll go away'_."

"You lied," Lydia laughed.

"_I told Luke to keep that horoscope in his wallet to bring him luck_," Lorelai said softly, and she sounded like she was smiling. "_So we're sitting at this table in Sniffy's Tavern, and Luke opens up his wallet…and there's the horoscope I gave him. Eight years ago_."

Lydia gasped, a hand to her chest. "Oh my _god_!" she sighed. "You're his Ava Gardner." Lorelai giggled.

"_That's what I told him_," she laughed.

"He's been waiting forever for you," Lydia smiled warmly. "Wow. Eight years." She shook her head, smiling.

"_You wanna know what else we did_?"

"If this gets dirty, please feel free _not_ to share. I don't need to know about you two playing _Scrabble_," Lydia said. "I won't ever be able to look Luke in the eye again." Lorelai laughed.

"_Okay, well, after we hit the triple word-score bonus_—"

"Ew!"

Lorelai cackled, "—_Luke pulls out this notepad and pen_—"

"To give you a rating out of ten?"

"_To write down all the CDs I want him to buy so he doesn't have to hear me lecturing him_," Lorelai said happily.

"Wow!" Lydia grinned. She sighed softly, smiling. "That sounds like a really great first date to me."

"_It_ _was_," Lorelai hummed softly. "_So, now, I get to tell you all the dirty details of the town meeting_."

"Oh, tell me!"

"_Well, first of all, _Hello!_ magazine didn't even mention my floor-show at Luke's_," Lorelai said, and Lydia's eyebrows flew up.

"Babette, Miss Patty? They didn't say a word?"

"_Not a single one_," Lorelai exclaimed indignantly.

"That's kind of a bummer. Everyone's been waiting for you and Luke to get together for years," Lydia frowned.

"_Ex—what? They have_?"

"Of course," Lydia smiled. "So, the town-meeting?"

"_Right, so, I was kinda a little bummed that Babette and Miss Patty weren't interested in…well, me and Luke…playing Scrabble. But I conned Luke into stopping by the town-meeting so I could give you and Rory the headlines, and after Andrew and Gypsy's fender-bender issue was settled, Taylor gets up, and he says the next case is the negative ramifications of the diner owner and inn owner dating_."

"That's you two," Lydia frowned.

"_Yeah! Taylor had all these charts and figures on how the local economy in Stars Hollow would be affected if Luke and I broke up_."

"You've only just started dating," Lydia frowned.

"_Apparently Taylor's not happy with Luke and me comingling_," Lorelai remarked.

"Nice word for it," Lydia smirked.

"_So Taylor's going on and on about some florist and Faye Wellington ten years ago who caused the town to split_—"

"Yeah, and I'm betting Taylor was at the forefront of the fight to segregate the town to avoid altercations," Lydia said drily. "God, Taylor's such a knob."

"_I know. And your grandma kept calling and bugging me about Dad going out at seven-thirty at night, so I had to slip out of Miss Patty's—when I got back, Luke exploded, he told everyone in Miss Patty's that it was none of their business, our relationship, _and_ he confiscated all of Taylor's slides and pie-charts and maps_."

"Lucas _likes_ you," Lydia beamed.

"_Yeah_," Lorelai sighed, happy. "_Hey, kiddo, I'm sorry I didn't get to see you at Friday-night dinner this week_."

"Oh, yeah, things have been kind of crazy around here," Lydia yawned.

"_I figured. Tell me about it_," Lorelai said excitedly.

"Okay, well, it started on a weird note; Asher Fleming died, so Paris turned our common-room into headquarters for a wake," Lydia sighed. "The Stooges happened upon our dorm by chance when Finn was trying to track down the girl I sent him home with the other night, so we chatted; Rory and Logan argued about Marty and servants and Judi Dench; Finn got a black eye; and the boys invited me out for Korean barbecue after my Cupcakes and Ice-Cream Social. Um…I had a bunch of socials, I caught up with Max—"

"_Your gay stripper friend_?"

"Yeah. He's got his housewarming next-month; you wanna go shopping soon, I want to buy them a really nice coffee-machine," Lydia smiled.

"_Absolutely!_" Lorelai enthused.

"I went out with the girls, we're going to do the draft soon," Lydia smiled. "I got a really great new top and clutch-purse from that great vintage boutique. I managed to get my name on the list for that 'Harlots, Housewives and Heroines: Reformation Women, 17th Century Feminists' class, and 'Cities, Art & Protest', which is great."

"_They're the two you really wanted, right_?"

"Yeah," Lydia smiled. "I've already read half the books for the courses."

"_Freak_."

"Bibliophobe. I've had a bunch of lunch-dates and I met up with a few people for a dessert, and cocktails," Lydia smiled, "and a group of us including the Stooges and Robert are going to _Rocky Horror_ next week."

"_No_ _way_!" Lorelai grinned.

"Yep. And I'm going for a steak-dinner with Robert," Lydia smiled.

"_Refining your plans to take over the world_?" Lorelai laughed.

"Something like that," Lydia smiled. "Oh. I might have also had a frank conversation with Rory in the dining-hall," Lydia added, wincing guiltily.

"_How loud did it get_?" Lorelai asked, dread filling her voice.

"Not loud. I just…told her things that she probably already knows, just doesn't want to have to admit are right," Lydia said, fiddling with her throw-pillow trim. She sighed heavily, glancing at her door. "I told her to go see the campus doctor."

"_For_?"

"For birth-control," Lydia said, wincing guiltily as Lorelai inhaled sharply.

"_Birth-control_," she said tightly. "_Right_."

"Has Rory not told you she and Dean are…whatever?" Lydia asked, wincing guiltily again; if Rory hadn't told Lorelai that she and Dean were back together…

"_Yeah, she mentioned that_," Lorelai said lightly, the way she got when she was uncomfortable about something.

"Well, I told her to go to the doctor, because, hello, Lorelai, daughter of Lorelai," Lydia sighed.

"_You're a good kid for looking out for your sister_," Lorelai said warmly.

"Who knew I'd turn out to be the morally responsible one," Lydia sighed.

"_Well, every kid has to make mistakes at some point in their lives_," Lorelai said disapprovingly.

"Except Rory's not a kid anymore. We're almost twenty. And mistakes usually involve pageboy haircuts, missing curfew, hangovers and skipping homework-assignments, not becoming an adulteress," Lydia said.

"_Harsh_," Lorelai said. "_Well, I guess Rory's a late-bloomer_."

"And Gilmores never do anything halfway," Lydia remarked.

"_So, on the subject of boys, has anyone special caught your eye_?" Lorelai asked. Lydia paused, surprised by the image of Finn flashing through her mind, but she frowned, licking her lips.

"No. You know me," she sighed.

"_Not even the Australian_?" Lorelai prompted, and Lydia felt her cheeks warm, her memories of Santorini flashing through her mind. "_Seemed like you had a lot of fun with him that week Grandma relinquished her hold on you_."

"We did have fun," Lydia said quietly. "But it was…summer. Santorini. There was Ouzo involved."

"_Copious amounts of it, I'm told_," Lorelai chuckled.

"It's kind of strange that they're here, at Yale, involved with the Life and Death Brigade," Lydia sighed. Lorelai was the only person in the entire world that Lydia told all her secrets to: she knew all about the numerous boys Lydia dated; her struggles all through Chilton with the level of difficulty of the workload; her triumphs last year; had been supportive of Lydia's relationship with her great-grandmother (she had sent letters, and Gran had given Lydia a hefty annuity, trust-fund and inheritance upon her death, giving her the financial freedom to circumvent Grandma's Friday-night dinners for school-funding) and even though she hated that world, didn't blame Lydia for enjoying the more charming, fun-loving, younger generation of money. Lydia told Lorelai everything about the Life and Death Brigade—after the fact; if she told Lorelai she was going hang-gliding, Lorelai would have driven to Yale to temporarily kidnap her until the period of madness had subsided.

"_They_ _are_?" Lorelai asked curiously.

"Yep," Lydia sighed. "So at the very least, I'll spend time with them in that capacity. "It kind of does make me want to hitch myself to the TARDIS and get the Doctor to prevent me going skinny-dipping…"

"_I've warned you about that_," Lorelai laughed.

"What, skinny-dipping, or waiting for the Doctor?"

"_Regret, little Amelia Pond_," Lorelai said. "_Don't look back and start regretting having a great time, living in the moment. You're only young once_."

"And you're living vicariously through me," Lydia smiled.

"_Exactly_!" Lorelai exclaimed. "_As long as you're not omitting the dirtier details of your little Greek sojourn, preventing me from daydreaming about your very own Christopher Atkins, go with it. Have fun. Don't get embarrassed that three boys have seen you stark-naked_."

"I stopped being embarrassed about total nudity when I was two," Lydia smirked.

"_My little exhibitionist_," Lorelai sighed happily.

"I am but an amateur compared to Finn," Lydia sighed, smiling.

"_Might be kinda nice to get to know those boys a little better_," Lorelai said.

"Yeah," Lydia smiled. "We only used to see Logan once a year at Christmas, and, it wasn't very jolly at Grandma's parties. And Finn…"

"_What about Finn_?" Lorelai cajoled. Lydia sighed. Finn, the enigmatic, insane Australian. It had been his birthday-week, of course, but that wasn't the reason she had spent most of her time with Finn during her little mini-vacation in the Mediterranean. She had chatted with Logan, teased Colin for being pompous, but _Finn_… Those pretty eyes, that smile, his tan, that _accent_. He kept up; always had a nice thing to say to everyone he met; had made her laugh and could catch fish right off the side of the _Andromeda_, gut them and grill them beautifully; wore eccentric shirts and that cord choker; slipped Wodehouse bits into normal conversation; and mixed one hell of a gin martini.

"I don't know, I just… It would be nice to get to know him a little bit better," Lydia said, sighing softly.

"_Because he's gorgeous_?" Lydia smiled to herself.

"Maybe," she chuckled. "And insane."

"_Keeps things interesting_."

"I'll say," Lydia said, as someone wrapped on her window. Surprised, Lydia glanced up, and laughed, clapping a hand to her eyes.

"_What_?"

"Speak of devils, they appear," Lydia said. "Mom, I've gotta go smack Robert's and Finn's bare asses with my paddle."

"_What_!" Lorelai laughed.

"Tell you tomorrow?"

"_With photographic evidence if you can wrangle it, babe_," Lorelai said warmly, and Lydia hung up as she loped off the bed, grabbing her _Lumix_ _G3_ digital-camera, snapping several shots of Finn and Robert mooning her, Colin with his hands over his eyes, laughing, Logan trying not to laugh. She opened the window, raising her eyebrows.

"To what do I owe this unexpected revulsion?" she asked, grinning. The boys jumped, tugging up their jeans, and Lydia set her camera on her desk.

"We have come with gifts and an invitation, poppet," Finn said, smiling charmingly as he reached for something in the flowerbed at his feet.

"My favourite kind of man," Lydia smiled.

"_Wild_ _Turkey_, as promised," Colin said, grinning easily, as Finn handed Lydia the bag; peering inside, she saw a bottle of _Wild_ _Turkey_ and another of _Bombay_ _Sapphire_.

"Thank you!" she beamed.

"You're coming to the Pub with us," Logan said.

"Am I?"

"We've got to fine-tune plans for initiation-week," Robert said.

"Excellent. I'll bring my '_Pranks, Dirty Tricks and Flat-Out Mean Things I Plan to Do to My Loved Ones_' journal," Lydia grinned. "When are we going to the Pub?"

"Now."

"Right."

"Put some lipstick and heels on," Robert said, clapping his hands to hurry her.

"And nothing else," Finn grinned charmingly, and Lydia laughed as she set the bag down on her desk, rummaging around for her wallet to stuff in her purse.

"I don't have any cash on me," Lydia said, frowning down at her t-shirt, tugging it off to rifle through her closet and pull on a nice top.

"We'll put your drinks on Colin's tab," Finn said.

"On Logan's tab," Colin spoke up, smiling. Lydia popped her head round her bedroom-door.

"I'm going out!"

"Don't make any noise if you're back late!" Paris shouted back. "I'm reading."

"Got it," Lydia called back, tugging her door closed as she whirled to her makeup-case, tugging out a handful of lip-glosses—a _Bite Beauty_ Honey Lip-Lacquer, a _Stila_ Lip-Glaze, a _MAC_ Lipgelee—and tucked two in her bag without looking at them, tugged a pair of snakeskin _J Crew_ flats on, found an emergency twenty in her _Wuthering Heights_ book and tucked it into her pocket, grabbing her soft denim jacket, and eyed her windowsill.

"Someone lift me," she said, climbing up onto the windowsill; Finn smiled and took her waist comfortably in his large hands, letting her brace herself on his shoulders before lifting her down from the window-ledge.

"Light as a feather," he said, flashing a grin.

"Stiff as a board," Lydia smirked saucily, winking at him, and his eyes lit up as he laughed, grinning, setting her gently on her feet. Colin closed her window, and Logan sauntered off, leading the way to the Pub.

It was busy when they arrived; Rosemarie and Juliet had secured a small table, and had been chatting up Thomas the bartender for free drinks; several other members of the Life and Death Brigade had convened around them, several of the girls Lydia knew, two boys she had gone on dates with, and it was nice to hang out and chat with them, the ideas for initiation-week for the Brigade getting sillier and more disgusting the more the boys drank, records kept in Rosemarie's eye-liner on a cocktail-napkin.

"Please don't go easy on them, okay," Lydia said, sipping her gin and tonic, bought for her by Finn. "Some of the things _I _had to do? Horrifying."

"I know," Robert said, patting her knee familiarly. He paused, frowning thoughtfully. "I made you do them."

"Which is why I'm holding on to all those incriminating photos of you for when you run for the Senate," Lydia said, sipping her drink, and Robert laughed.

"Wait, what photos?" he asked, eyes widening; Lydia laughed, and handed Juliet a single pretzel.

Lydia's natural state was enthusiastic, with moments of quiet introspection, great waves of ecstasy coupled with inquisitiveness, and a surprisingly stringent work-ethic. Flirting was something she was good at, and something she loved doing; as the evening went on and others from the Brigade meandered around and left the Pub, hitting clubs, the hole-in-the-wall pizza joint next-door, the hardcore veterans of both the Brigade and the Pub remained there, getting slowly more and more toasted.

Lydia slipped away when the boys wanted to go club-hopping, and Rosemarie and Juliet headed home, bored; she had an early class in the morning, and, no matter what other people thought of her, she was a very good student. She couldn't afford not to be.

She came across Paris in the common-room when she got back. She sat, listening to Schubert, morosely puffing on a curved pipe. Lydia sighed, taking off her jacket and shoes, and sat down on the sofa next to Paris.

"I know you hate it… I just wanted to smell like him," Paris said softly, and Lydia sighed again, tucking her arm around Paris' shoulders.

"That's okay," she said quietly. "A little toxic pipe-smoke doesn't do any harm. Queen Victoria laid out her husband's clothes every day for forty years."

"Her life with Albert was cut tragically short," Paris said sadly.

"They had twenty years together. Nine children," Lydia pointed out quietly. She glanced at Paris, knowing that Asher Fleming had been married twice, had four children, at least eight grandchildren, some of whom were adults. Professor Fleming had had a long, full life. It was a shame that there had been such an age-difference between them, that Paris hadn't been alive to meet him a few decades ago. "Hey, Paris?"

"Yeah."

"I realise I haven't said it yet," she said quietly, "but I'm really sorry Asher died."

"Thanks," Paris said throatily, sighing.

"And you won't be sad forever," Lydia said softly. One of the many things she had learned, observing Lorelai's relationships, was that the world didn't end after a breakup. Asher dying was in effect a breakup, and Paris was very young still; she wasn't the type to hold on to the memory of her dead lover like Heathcliff. Psychotic like him, to an extent, yes, but she would become too busy to continue mourning Asher.

"I hope not," Paris said sadly. "I've had stomach-ache the past three weeks." Lydia rubbed her arm comfortingly.

"It'll ease," she said softly. Paris sighed, glancing at her. There were times when Paris would drop her guard, momentarily, and would show a startlingly endearing side of her personality that was otherwise lost due to her drive and hyper-intelligence. Her breakdown-speech when she had been rejected from Harvard, sitting on the stairs and letting Lydia hug her, telling her that Gellars of the future would look back and say, 'That Paris, the maverick, she carved her own path, and she dominated. Whatever Paris Gellar tackled, she triumphed'.

"Have you ever been in love?" Paris asked her quietly, dark eyes searching Lydia's face.

"Once…I thought I was," Lydia sighed. "Travis Fimmel." Paris frowned at her, bemused. "Tommy Hilfiger underwear model. Australian," she added, thoughtful. What was it with her and Australians? She sighed, shaking her head, smiling as Paris rolled her eyes, giving her a watery smile. "No, I've never been in love. I've heard it's pretty spectacular, though."

"Oh, it is," Paris nodded, then sighed, her features crumpling.

"And I've heard that you're supposed to fall in love as many times as you can," Lydia said softly.

"Where did you hear that?" Paris sniffed.

"_Practical Magic_," Lydia smiled. "Nothing like the Death-Watch Beetle to put things into perspective." She sighed softly. "I do know that Asher wouldn't want you to lose momentum over his death." She unfolded from the sofa, standing. "What kind of 'a wise, wilful, wonderful woman' would you be then?" She bent to kiss Paris on the head, smiling, and took the pipe from Paris' hand. "And I'm confiscating this."

"Hey!" Paris didn't try and fight her for the pipe; she was smiling softly.

"Start going over your plans for world-domination; you'll start to miss him less," Lydia advised gently. "I promise." She picked up her bag, jacket and shoes, making her way to her bedroom.

"Hey, Lydia?" Paris said, and Lydia glanced over her shoulder.

"Yeah."

"Thanks," Paris smiled. "You're pretty wise, you know that?"

Lydia smiled warmly. "I get it from observing my mother."

* * *

**A.N.**: Please review. It's my goal to bring my favourite moments of _Gilmore_ _Girls_ into this story, with an alternate timeline, changes made due to the addition of Lydia to the dynamic. I'm also thinking of killing Mitchum.


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